Released by Truth
by wryter501
Summary: Merlin's place is with Arthur, that much is certain - but there are still the laws of Camelot to consider, even after Uther's death. Can newly-crowned King Arthur guide his kingdom through a journey he's not sure he's finished with - adjusting to the reality of magic in Camelot - without losing himself... or Merlin? Sequel to "Refined by Fire".
1. Long Live the King

**Prologue: The King is Dead…**

 _Stay… you belong here._

For several moments - there in Arthur's bedchamber, just the two of them again as it had been so often in the past and he hadn't realized how much he _missed_ that – Merlin allowed himself to believe the words. Halfway through their shared breakfast, he believed Arthur's words.

But as food and drink began to revive his body, exhausted from the night spent in vigil with Arthur, his mind began to rove further than the four walls of the prince's bedchamber.

No, not the prince. The king. In all but name, maybe.

Merlin belonged at Arthur's side, that much was certain. But he wasn't just a manservant, anymore – nor were they on a dangerous quest, far from Camelot. His witnessed use of magic, trial and execution, had complicated things for him here. And it wasn't just, as a known sorcerer when magic was still punishable by death.

It wasn't even, everyone save a select few, believed him dead. It had been amusing to think of ghosting the corridors and shocking the handful of servants or guards who might see him, when he was living in hiding and didn't want anyone to believe him alive. If he was going to come back, like Arthur was thinking, that misconception would have to be corrected, at the very least…

Arthur, who hadn't said a word since they sat down, himself at the head of his table and Merlin at his right hand, hadn't taken a bite for some moments. Abruptly he ceased toying with his food to lay his fork down; Merlin said nothing as he shoved his chair back, and strode to the window to lean on the casement in an attitude Merlin knew well. Bothered by something he hadn't figured out yet.

A year ago, Merlin could have teased and insulted the matter out of him, and they could have had a discussion disguised as a verbal joust. He could have done it if Arthur had lost an argument with Morgana or a tournament match or even one of his own men on patrol.

But his _father_ …

Merlin turned his own fork over in his fingers, remembering his own experience. Had Arthur felt that, utterly helpless as his father's lifeblood stained his hands and life ebbed palpably in his arms?

"What are you thinking?" Arthur said.

Merlin glanced up to see that he hadn't turned from his window, and the view of the training field – which would probably be deserted, today. Out of respect. "Why?"

"You are never this quiet."

Faintly goading. Which was familiar.

"I was thinking the dishes need doing," Merlin said lightly.

And Arthur would have to be dressed in more formal attire – he tried to remember if Arthur had much black in his wardrobe, and realized he hadn't any idea, any longer. Orryn would know. But then, Arthur would require attending at a council meeting, almost surely – he'd have to speak to Gaius about the practical arrangements, and Geoffrey about the correspondence that would go out to Camelot's allies.

If Arthur snorted, it was too quiet for Merlin to hear. "Help yourself."

But Merlin probably couldn't set foot outside the room without causing panic, and raising issues that would complicate this day unbearably for his friend and king.

"Arthur," he said. The young king didn't move, arms crossed and chin tucked down on one fist. "I think I should go, after all."

"Well, surely you remember where the kitchens are."

Was it Merlin's imagination that his teasing sounded desperate? "Arthur…"

A moment passed, before Arthur shifted to study him expressionlessly – and for once Merlin couldn't tell what he was thinking. "You would keep hiding?"

"Yes," Merlin answered. "I mean, no, not… just, I can keep waiting, I don't mind..." He wanted to make it a joke, and say, _it won't always be like this, hot and noisy_ , like he'd teased Arthur once in the back room of Elyan's forge. But today was not a day for light-heartedness.

Into the silence came a quick light knock – Arthur recognized it as Merlin did, and raised his voice. "Come."

Merlin stood and turned as the door creaked open and Gwen in her favorite lavender dress, embroidered with flowers, slipped inside. Her glance took in Merlin at the table and the picked-over breakfast tray, before she wordlessly closed the door behind her, and crossed to Arthur. Rising on the toes of her slippers, she put her arms around his shoulders, cupping his neck in one hand. He deflated into her, holding her tightly with his face turned into her neck.

Merlin studied the toes of his boots and thought about the third reason he shouldn't stay.

They might've whispered, they might have kissed each other, but when Arthur cleared his throat, Merlin looked up to see that they'd drawn back a bit, though each still had an arm around the other – Gwen's at Arthur's waist, his over her shoulder. And Merlin was certain it hadn't even occurred to her, that Arthur's choice of wife was now subject to no one else but him.

"So, Guinevere," Arthur said – and there he was again, trying for a normal tone. "Help me convince Merlin that he should stay."

"I just think," Merlin said, attempting to explain, "not today. People don't know I'm even alive, it would cause panic –"

"Orryn knows, doesn't he?" Arthur interrupted.

Merlin met Gwen's eyes for confirmation, and nodded. Orryn was pragmatic and level-headed and unimaginative; he'd been surprised but not hysterical to see Merlin evidently alive and well. He accepted the truth of his own five senses without fearing more.

"Have him go with you, and he can explain how you're not a ghost, to everyone you see." Arthur seemed perfectly satisfied with that suggestion, though Gwen's jaw was set in her characteristically-gentle skepticism.

Merlin could just imagine. Over and over again, the curly-haired servant having to call after someone and convince them. Over and over the reactions of people he was once acquainted with. Maybe some relief – there had been many more sympathetic than gloating faces, at his execution – but probably, far more suspicion. He wasn't just a boy who'd learned a spell to defend his prince, and used it clumsily but effectively, anymore. He'd be seen as a sorcerer capable of strong magic. And deception.

The servants were a superstitious lot, anyway, as were most of the common people of Camelot. He couldn't imagine the reactions of the knights, nor the nobles…

"But Arthur," he tried to reason with his friend without hurting him even more, today, "there's still the problem of magic being illegal, you know the guards or the knights will expect to arrest me, and right now… I mean, after – um, last night… and before you're actually…"

"I think he's right," Gwen said.

Arthur twisted away from her incredulously. "What?"

"Listen, you want him here, so do I. So does Gaius – and you _know_ Merlin wants to stay." Arthur glanced at him, and Merlin wasn't sure what the king saw on his face. "But _think_. If he's seen here today, folks may think about and talk about a ghost or a sorcerer – but someone will say _murderer_. And that's a rumor that will follow you both."

Arthur took another step back from her, before turning to stare at Merlin. "I see," he said. "And you already thought of that, didn't you."

"The timing isn't good," Merlin said, pleading with him to understand. "Last night was too late for many people to be aware of what was going on, and this morning – if someone that everyone thought your father executed for sorcery is just _here_ , and to stay…" And under the new king's protection and favor.

Arthur dropped his head. Moments passed, and Merlin sent Gwen a wordless plea. She stepped to take Arthur's hand again. "Just not _today_ , Arthur," she emphasized softly.

"Today should be for you. And your father," Merlin said.

The king gave a single nod, without lifting his eyes. And Merlin knew, as if he'd already seen it, already lived it, that Arthur would hold a second night's vigil in the grand receiving hall, alone with the dying candles til the morning dawned a new day. And everyone else would arrive for the procession, down to the vaults where Uther's body would be laid to rest in the crypts with his ancestors. Then – barring complications of the sort Merlin himself would present, involuntarily – Arthur's coronation would be held tomorrow afternoon.

"I will send Leon," Arthur added, "out to the ruins. With him escorting you, there should be no… difficulties."

"Thank you, sire," Merlin said sincerely.

Arthur's face twisted just slightly; to cover it, he looked away toward the window so swiftly Merlin doubted what he'd seen. And to pretend he hadn't, he tucked his cloak over the crook of his arm; it was far too late in the morning for sneaking out, he'd have to use magic.

"I should… be going, then. The others will be wondering…" Arthur gave another nod of understanding, and Merlin crossed to him, reaching to grip his king's arm. "I believe in you," he said. "I can't imagine you feel ready for this – that you can see yourself as ever being ready for this, right now –" He remembered this feeling, himself; he still felt this feeling. "But you are capable, Arthur. All anyone can ask is your best – and you already do that."

He expected a smile, at least. Maybe half-incredulous, half-mocking, but a smile. A sarcastic inquiry as to where Merlin had picked up his bits of wisdom. But Arthur simply breathed, in and out, and acknowledged the words with another slight inclination of his head.

"Thank you for your willingness to help," he said. Neutrally. Almost… officially. A wrinkle appeared between Gwen's dark brows as she looked at him.

Merlin didn't let go. "I am sorry I wasn't here when you needed me."

"I am too," Arthur said softly.

He stepped back, called the words to mind – then hesitated. Somehow it was different, breaking the law with magic, now that it was Arthur's law. "With your permission, my lord?"

Arthur looked startled as well, as if he felt it, too. Looking the other way while he was a prince who disagreed with his father the king, might feel different to his sense of honor than condoning what the rest of the kingdom still considered evil. Finally he said, with another attempt at a more characteristic tone, "Go on, Merlin."

Gwen gave Merlin an encouraging nod, then looked up at their well-beloved friend. He felt better, knowing that she would be there for Arthur, and spoke the spell. " _Bedyrne me – Astyre me thanonweard!"_

Wind plucked at his clothing, and he closed his eyes against Arthur's expression – moments later feeling the dim and damp and draft of the ruins.

"Merlin!" Gwaine exclaimed, and he opened his eyes.

His two outlaw friends were crouched together at the hearth; Lancelot stood as a noise near the door behind Merlin drew his attention to Percival, just entering, with a slight pause to recognize that Merlin was back.

"So what happened?" Gwaine continued.

Merlin stepped to the round stone table that filled half their crumbling hall, draping his cloak over the back of one of the chair, as Percival joined them. "Uther was killed last night. Assassinated."

Gwaine stood. "He's dead?"

Merlin nodded; for a moment they were all silent, trying to adjust to a startling truth, the momentous change.

"How's Arthur?" Lancelot ventured.

"He's handling it." Merlin looked down at his cloak, adjusting the fold and fall of the rough material. "About as well as can be expected."

"What is it, then?" Percival said quietly to him. "We don't have to worry about execution anymore, if we're caught, right?"

Without answering the question, which was rather rhetorical anyway, Merlin said, "He's going to change."

Lancelot began to protest, but Gwaine's humor was gone, as he mouthed a silent but eloquent, _Ah_. And Merlin, who alone knew the truth of why Gwaine particularly might understand, held his gaze.

"You really think _King_ Arthur will be different from _Prince_ Arthur?" Percival asked seriously.

"He'll have to be," Gwaine said on a sigh. "He'll be the one giving orders, instead of choosing whether or not to obey. Giving instead of receiving reprimands…"

How much would Arthur change, though, was the question that concerned Merlin. And how much would Merlin himself have to change, in the days and weeks and months – years? – to come…

 **Chapter 1: …Long Live the King**

Arthur strode down the corridor of the citadel that was now only his, and never felt more alone.

King. He was to be king. Not a new idea, of course, but now it was _tomorrow_.

Guinevere was very good for him; he loved her and just sitting quietly with her was soothing to his heart, this morning. But every time he opened his mouth to unburden himself in expressing the feelings of loss and trepidation, he remembered. She was one of those that now looked to him. For protection, for leadership… and how could the people have confidence in their king if he hadn't much in himself? Finally, she had taken his silence for a desire to be alone, and had excused herself to help Gaius. He hadn't called her back.

 _A king must control his emotions_ , his father had told him, more than once, _or how can he control anything else?_

He wished, suddenly, that Merlin walked at his heels instead of Orryn. Merlin would know what to do or say – Orryn still didn't believe it was his place to speak without prompting, to question or criticize or debate.

But as they rounded the last corner and he saw the two knights posted at the council-chamber door, he realized. Merlin had been right. If the black-haired sorcerer walked behind him, those men would immediately level their spears, exclaim and protest over the magic, an escaped criminal's freedom.

It was a battle he fully intended to fight, and begin today. But one he was less likely to win quickly and cleanly if he was put on an immediate defensive.

"Sire," said the nearest guard, as they both stiffened to attention.

He nodded, not slowing, and each moved to open one door, swinging them inward to announce his arrival. As he passed, and one made to follow him to stand attendance inside the room, he spoke to the other. "Send for Sir Leon, have him wait here for my signal."

Click of heels, bow of helmeted head, and Arthur faced the room and the meeting and the undertaking awaiting him.

Eight men on the lesser council, and he looked at each as he stepped to his place, all dressed in the formal and respectful black of mourning. Gaius and Geoffrey he was certain of, the other half dozen he'd wait to see. The familiarity was less – and that worked both ways. Or, didn't work, as the case may be… This room and these men had always been so dominated by his father, Arthur felt slightly unsure of himself – but it helped to think of the way he himself led the knights in patrol and in training.

"My lords," he said evenly. "Thank you for coming. Please be seated." He remained on his feet through the shuffle, resting one forearm along the back of the chair that was his as prince. "It seems you all have heard the news. The king is dead."

"Long live the king," Geoffrey said softly, but Arthur didn't pause to acknowledge him.

"Uther Pendragon… was killed by an assassin hidden among the performers at last night's… banquet," he continued. "The man drugged me and attempted to kill me. He succeeded in murdering both guards posted in the corridor, but my father arrived in time to save my life, and take the blade meant for me."

"May he rest in peace," Gaius said, gaze on the table in front of him; he looked as weary as Arthur felt.

"In the days to come, the other performers will be questioned, and we will attempt to discover who was behind the plot that claimed the king's life."

The men were nodding; they were of his father's generation, those with lands closest to Camelot which allowed for their residence in the citadel, or those with reliable stewards keeping track of their estates.

"Geoffrey," he added, "I believe this is where I turn things over to you."

"Indeed, my lord." The old man scraped his chair back from the table with an effort, and rose ponderously to address his peers. "My fellow lords. Gaius our very able court physician assures me that arrangements have been made regarding our late king. His body will lie in state in our grand receiving chamber as the people of Camelot mourn his passing this night. Tomorrow we lay him to rest – and crown our new king."

He felt eyes on him, measuring him differently than they ever had before, but he kept his gaze steadfastly on the court recorder.

"Arthur Pendragon has been King Uther's heir since the moment of his birth, uncontested and unrivaled. Tomorrow we all swear fealty to a new sovereign. Therefore, today is our chance to speak."

Silence. Arthur breathed, and held himself still, and did not meet anyone's eyes. He didn't anticipate any opposition – couldn't imagine anyone setting another candidate forward – a formality only, but.

Power was balanced, always. The relationship of king to people, noble or common, one of mutual give and take, based on trust and confidence. His authority extended so far as he could enforce it, as long as he commanded the loyalty of the knights. Any given lord would not wish to stand against him, withholding taxes in any form, but. Were he to levy impossible sums for frivolous reasons – or commit any other royal travesty – the lord offended would find support among his fellows, and there simply weren't enough troops to send to every estate and force the issue against whatever defense its lord could raise. And without the means to pay or support the knights and guards, their loyalty could be expected to slip. In such straits, who could blame an enemy king for attacking at Camelot's moment of weakening in-fighting.

So the king was sovereign insofar as he maintained the support of the majority of his council and his fighting force. In retrospect and after talking with Gaius at length, Arthur believed it was his father's canny management of foreign powers as well as the consistent domestic prosperity – not to mention swift and ruthless use of armed force – that had allowed Uther to institute the set of laws commonly referred to as the Purge.

Only time would tell if Arthur was able to dismantle them. For today, no one had anything to say against him.

"I for one," Gaius said suddenly into the stillness, "wish to express my appreciation and support for Prince Arthur. He has grown to be a fine young man, an able warrior with an open and intelligent mind and a noble spirit. Camelot will prosper under his reign, perhaps even more than under his father's."

A murmur of agreement ran around the room. Arthur's throat was tight, but he managed a nod of gratitude for the old man's words. Seeing as how Gaius already knew exactly why Arthur would need that support, in the days to come.

Geoffrey turned to Arthur, with a little bow that anticipated Arthur's coronation on the morrow, a ceremony that the old records-keeper himself would perform. "It has long been a custom for a new monarch to celebrate the commencement of his reign with acts of mercy or generosity. Seeing as how this event was both sudden and… emotionally trying, perhaps you would like a few days to decide –"

Arthur had expected this. "No, that won't be necessary," he said. "I am prepared to inform the council of my intentions in the matter now."

And hope to high heaven that he wouldn't spend the rest of the day arguing.

"I see." Geoffrey was long used to covering reactions in this room – or anywhere, maybe, just as Gaius was. "By all means, proceed." He was the only one who'd brought parchment, quill and ink to the table; he settled himself and began to write a draft of the official proclamation.

Generally speaking, Arthur as the accepted heir ascendant, could enact whatever he liked, on this day of his coronation, insofar as it affected specific individuals. In reality, if his choices seriously offended too many of these men, made them doubt his capability of ruling for any reason, he would weaken his support among them and have to fight and compromise for years, maybe, to achieve the sort of autonomy his father had enjoyed.

At the same time, it was a unique opportunity, and he might as well start as he meant to go on. They had to deal with him as much as he had to deal with them.

"Two pardons," he said, glancing around the table. "I want banishments lifted."

Geoffrey said respectfully, "Names?"

"Lancelot," Arthur said. "And Gwaine."

The quill hesitated, poised in midair. "Both men in question were banished by the late king for crimes that included impersonation of nobility by deception, am I correct?"

"You are," Arthur said neutrally, not for the first time wondering exactly how Gwaine had managed to get himself into that melee. "And both men also saved my life, in so doing. I would like pardons allowing them free passage throughout our lands, out of gratitude."

Geoffrey nodded, the quill scratching as some of the others whispered to each other. Arthur ignored them; Gaius raised one eyebrow severely to keep from smiling.

"Also I wish to bestow three knighthoods," Arthur went on. He'd struggled with this decision, but concluded it would be counterproductive to ask for too much at this stage. If he granted two of the three, it would make other knighthoods possible – even probable, in the near future, and introduce one of the changes he wished to make.

"Names," Geoffrey said again.

"Young Carados has almost earned the test, and is more than capable of passing it," Arthur began. "I'd like to waive the trial-of-arms and knight him following the ceremony tomorrow afternoon."

A few nodded, no one protested. Geoffrey said absently, "He and his family would be pleased to have the honor of a coronation knighthood… The others?"

Arthur inhaled, and didn't smile. The first name had been deserving, but strategic… "Lancelot, and Gwaine."

Geoffrey straightened and stared at him; the murmurs increased. Someone said, "What?"

Someone else said, "Impossible – they're commoners, aren't they?"

"Yes," Arthur said, now meeting each lord's eyes in turn. "And both have publicly proven their skill equal to any knight. As well as lending their abilities and risking their lives in last year's invasion by the witch Morgause and her enchanted army."

"You have proof, of course," Geoffrey said, with a glance at the others. Spokesperson, often; Arthur had noticed that, before.

Arthur gestured at the guard, who nodded and turned to draw one of the great wooden doors open. He spoke inaudibly to someone outside, then stepped away to admit Leon.

It was good for Arthur to see the senior knight; Leon's concerned gaze found him immediately. Whatever he saw, his expression eased slightly, and he took in the rest of the men at the table, stepping forward deferentially. "My lords."

"Will you please relate to the council, your observations of the actions and attitudes of the two men named Lancelot and Gwaine, last year when the witch Morgause invaded Camelot?" Geoffrey said.

Leon drew himself into a posture of attention, taking a moment of thought. Arthur had discussed this with him before, but not recently, though he didn't seem to need the reminder to understand what was going on. "My lords, you all recall that she gained complete control very swiftly. I and my fellows – those of us still alive after the brief initial battle in the streets –"

Arthur swallowed, remembering the choice he'd made – while his men and his people were fighting and dying, he had not been with them. Seeking the one weapon that could save them all, yes, but still.

"-Were incarcerated in the dungeons, along with King Uther. We knew she kept us alive only until Prince Arthur was found – and that seemed inevitable. We were guarded by nine or ten of her enchanted soldiers and had little hope of freedom or life, when these men Lancelot and Gwaine – and another, their companion Percival – appeared to trap our jailors and unlock our cells. They aided us in holding the dungeon-level against more enemies from above, until Prince Arthur succeeded in breaking the witch's enchantment, elsewhere in the citadel. In my opinion, King Uther might have been killed that day, and most if not all of the knights, but for them. They are good, honorable men who risked their lives for us with no thought of reward, and I am proud to call them friends."

Arthur was proud to call Leon friend; that last bit was true feeling, unprompted.

"Deserving of knighthood?" Lord Urbert remarked snidely. He was a pale, limp man with pale limp white hair, but sharp eyes.

"Absolutely." Leon met his gaze unflinchingly. "We would be lucky to have them in our ranks."

"In spite of their disregard for Camelot's laws and the king's edict?" Geoffrey pressed.

Leon gave him a small smile. "To save the king's life, or his heir, I would do so myself, come what may."

"Do you plan to grant them lands, or a sum of gold also?" Lord Emund asked Arthur directly. He was one of the younger councilmen, though still at least fifty years of age – narrow-shouldered and paunch-bellied, with a bristle of black hair skirting a bald pate. He usually gave the impression of absent-minded boredom or even simplicity, mouth drooping open under the bristle on his upper lip. But that was only an impression, Arthur knew.

"No, I don't," he said. "Just the title, the duties, the pay."

"Will the other knights accept common-born men sharing the benefits of their status?" Lord Rowland inquired. He was the oldest member of the eight men, if Arthur wasn't mistaken. Slow of speech and step and bowed by age, still he kept the last long wisps of the fair brown hair of his youth adorning a shiny scalp. And it was hard to tell what he truly thought; he rarely looked up and spoke seldom, but occasionally argued both sides of an issue.

"It will take getting used to," Leon admitted, "but a truly noble man should admit and admire the skill of another, whoever he may be, and appreciate needed aid coming from any quarter."

"I believe," Geoffrey said, looking around at his companions, "if you are ready to deal with whatever consequences arise from your choices, Arthur, we have no serious protests to raise."

"Let the records show I am against it," Lord Urbert said suddenly.

"And I," sighed old Rowland.

"Then let the record also show I whole-heartedly endorse the knighthood of both men," Gaius said.

Leon stepped back, and Geoffrey nodded as he scrawled. "Now –"

"One more thing, my lords," Arthur said. And his heart-rate hammered fit to rival Elyan's best performance. Ye gods, what he wouldn't give for this to be a joust of swords, not words. "Another name. The man who accompanied me in my infiltration of the palace during last year's invasion, protected me and helped me end not only the enchantment, but also the witch's life."

"Another criminal?" Lord Urbert said, beady eyes snapping.

Arthur almost laughed. "As a matter of fact, yes. Tried and found guilty of law-breaking – may I add that it was not murder or theft, assault or fraud – he was sentenced to death and escaped. But remained in hiding nearby for such time as he was needed."

"You would like his sentence lifted also?" Geoffrey said. "Another pardon, another knighthood?"

"No, I don't believe a pardon is appropriate." Not the least because such a thing covered past misdeeds, not future ones – and Arthur was quite sure there was magic in Merlin's future, and probably before he was able to finish what he intended with Camelot's code of law. "And not a knighthood either, he has no skill to speak of with a sword."

He thought he'd managed to speak without sarcasm, but Leon bit his lip and Gaius' eyebrow was up, though the rest of his expression remained unchanged.

"A condemned criminal, sire, but no pardon granted?" Geoffrey asked, mildly confused. "What is it you wish to give him?"

"Freedom," Arthur said. "For invaluable service to myself personally and the entire kingdom of Camelot."

"His name?" Geoffrey said, his eyes back on the parchment as his quill hovered; he anticipated no argument from the others.

Arthur was not so hopeful – and at least Lord Rowland had divined the difference between _pardon_ and _freedom_. The old man tilted his entire upper body backward to lift his head, alarm twisting his wrinkled face. "His crime?"

There was nothing for it. Arthur said, "His name is Merlin."

A mild, elderly sort of pandemonium erupted – with the protests that Arthur had anticipated. A sorcerer. But he's dead.

Arthur let the noise rise as the men argued for a moment, then moved to the head of the table, where his father had presided – slowly and deliberately. Shifting the high-backed chair to give himself space to stand, he leaned on the table and stared the council down, member by member, wordlessly waiting – breathing evenly, hoping this was going to _work_ , and not ruin all – until they realized where he was and who he was.

He couldn't force them to accept. Neither could they deny his wishes for the morrow. But he did not want to undermine himself with these men by _assuming_ the sort of power his father had wielded, so soon.

"You all saw it," he said mildly into the silence. "His execution. I was unaware that he'd survived the ordeal for several weeks, myself. I asked him how, and he said, magic. Of course. Magic strong enough to escape the pyre of a public execution, and none the wiser – if he had intended harm to myself or my father, or any of us, he could have accomplished it easily. He could have accomplished it by doing nothing, the day of the bandit attack and his arrest. He is no danger to Camelot, you have my word on it."

"Sorcery is punishable by death," Lord Emund observed, on the edge of his seat, half-turned to face Arthur, one arm resting on the table as if to brace himself. "Simply because the execution was not complete –"

"It was presided over by the king who commanded it, and he was satisfied with the event," Gaius commented.

"Please." Arthur lifted his hands. "I did not wish to discuss the merits of the laws my father instituted and fought for decades to enforce, this day of all days."

Another day, though.

"Why is a simple pardon not enough, Arthur?" Geoffrey queried. "Convert the sentence to banishment, as you did for the sorceress Alice."

"No," Arthur said immediately, addressing the court recorder's second comment. "This is his home. He has fought to defend Camelot as well as any knight."

"With _magic_!" Urbert protested, incredulous. "I cannot believe that you intend a sorcerer to walk our streets freely – among our people, our children –"

"He's walked these streets freely for years, before he was found out," Arthur retorted, "and we are all the better for it, rather than otherwise."

Oh, that he hadn't seen that quirk of a smile on Gaius' face.

"There may be riots, Arthur," Lord Rowland said softly. "If your people dislike your benevolence, making him a favorite, an exception – what will you do?"

Not an exception, but an _example_. He hoped. "Protect him and them, to the best of my ability," Arthur responded. And those sorts of situations would be ten times worse, if rumor spread that Arthur had freed a sorcerer in spite of the opposition of the entire council.

And maybe they knew it, too. Without an alternative candidate for heir, they could not even threaten to delay his coronation, much less deny his choice of favors-of-the-day. But whether they would be willing to make the best of a bad situation…

"May I suggest," Geoffrey enunciated, "conditions. A parole of sorts, if and until such conditions are met."

"Conditions?" Arthur said.

"No more magic," Urbert said immediately.

"Perhaps a second trial," Emund said, frowning thoughtfully, arms crossed above his paunch. "I confess I found his first unsatisfactory, myself, as far as coherent information was concerned. And the reports of his confession – broken as disjointed as it was – mystifying. Perhaps if this council was to question him further, until we are as satisfied with the situation as Arthur is?"

Arthur inhaled, thinking quickly. Any sentencing they requested for whatever they found offensive among Merlin's secrets would ultimately be up to him, anyway. "Private and confidential sessions," he said, and wondered if Merlin would consider it a steep price for freedom.

"Are you serious?" Urbert said to Emund. "How could we trust a word he said? All sorcerers are liars!"

"Would you lie to save your life?" Rowland said to him across the table, slow and gentle. "Would you lie to protect your family? Perhaps if it were not necessary for a user of magic to hide and conceal, we would say, sorcerers always tell the truth."

Arthur allowed for a moment of silence. "Do you trust me, my lords," he said.

Half a second, and the obligatory murmurs of assent followed. He held their gazes, one after another, trying to convey his desire for mutual confidence and _will_ their minds open.

"I trust him," he said simply. "I will inform him of your conditions and hold him to the truth…"

Memory pricked him, with the last time he'd told Merlin, _You have to cooperate, you have to answer him, you have to tell the truth…_

"But he will be present at my coronation tomorrow," Arthur finished unequivocally. "If not for him, I would not have lived to see it."

Seven old men looked at each other with varying degrees of uncertainty. Gaius gave Arthur a brief but proud nod, and didn't look away as Geoffrey spoke the words to adjourn the meeting.

Arthur straightened and retreated a few steps, sensitive to the discussion that would inevitably continue – and spread as rumors. Which was fine by him, it would lessen the shock of the proclamation, and the actual presence of the young sorcerer.

Emund bowed last, holding Arthur's gaze; Rowland shuffled past him, pausing to grip Arthur's arm. "Your father, for all his flaws, was a good king," he said softly. "I see much of him in you."

"Thank you very much," Arthur said, turning slightly away from the room – as if to watch the old man's slow hobbling exit – and squeezing involuntary tears from his eyes with thumb and forefinger. A king controls his emotions, he told himself, squaring his shoulders and turning back – though he was quite sure Gaius was too close to him to be fooled.

"I wish he could have heard you, just now," the old physician said, and Arthur knew he wasn't speaking of the same person Rowland had. "There were times he despaired of you. Few and brief though they were."

"I could probably think of a couple," Arthur said ruefully. "He was right, though. This morning I wanted him to stay, and he said, not today. He was right."

To prevent the sort of general uproar that would have the council opposing him in hysterics, Merlin would have had to keep to Arthur's room anyway – and then caused a furor no matter when he stepped out. It wouldn't be much better to have rumors and conjecture meet him at the gates of the lower town, whisper and stare and follow all the way to the citadel, but at least it wouldn't be screams of terror or accusations of necromancy or murder or both.

"He often is, in the end," Gaius sighed. "I shall look forward to having him back, though it won't be easy."

"Tomorrow's the first step," Arthur said.

"Yes, it is. But how long will the journey take?" Gaius squeezed his upper arm compassionately, turning to take his leave. "Excuse me, sire, I have a few last preparations to see to."

"Of course."

Gaius was not the last one from the room, but the other pair swiftly followed – Geoffrey arguing with Urbert. Arthur jerked his head as an invitation to Leon, waiting respectfully by one of the columns.

"Tomorrow morning, after we've laid my father to rest –" Arthur swallowed, _chin up_ and _control_ – "I need you to ride to the ruins and bring them here. In time for the coronation. Take someone you trust with you."

Leon was not senior knight for nothing. His eyes widened briefly – turned thoughtful – understood. "Yes, my lord."

Outside the door, Leon headed one way; Arthur turned the other to find fuzzy-haired Orryn waiting. "I have your noon meal ready in your room, sire. I thought you might also appreciate a hot bath, and a chance to rest, before…"

Before tonight. "Yes, thank you, Orryn," Arthur sighed.

 **A/N: I have the feeling this story is going to have a pace similar to the first… Bear with me?**


	2. The Coronation

**Chapter 2: The Coronation**

With Merlin's pronouncement of the old king's death, Gwaine could sense change in the air. It made him feel restless that night, and woke him early the next morning as Lancelot still slept.

Since the weather had warmed from winter's bitter chill to later-spring mild cool, it had not been uncommon for Merlin to fall asleep in his little upper room in the ruins, rather than seek the hearth for his bedroll with Gwaine and Lancelot – nor to have a lie-in, after a night later than theirs with his books and potions.

Therefore, Gwaine was surprised to emerge to the rosy-gray dawn and find the young sorcerer slouched casually on a boulder-size chunk of masonry, facing east and Camelot.

"Up early?" Gwaine asked, ducking into the shoulder strap of his quiver and testing his bowstring. "Or out late?"

Merlin made a noncommittal noise, his eyes reflecting a point of light like midnight-blue stars; he didn't look at Gwaine. "It's a new day."

"Enjoy it," Gwaine advised. Though he wasn't completely sure his younger friend heard him; he looked over his shoulder before entering the forest proper to see that Merlin hadn't moved an inch, or shifted his focus.

He was still there when Gwaine returned at noon, a brace of rabbits and a slow pheasant held in one fist by the twine tying them. Not watching the sun at least – high overhead – but the east. Toward Camelot.

Gwaine's worry was interrupted by an all-senses alert that yanked his attention to the trees in the direction of Merlin's gaze. Slight noise – movement – horses and riders.

A pair of them at least, and one in the official red of a knight of Camelot.

In the ten months they'd lived in the ruins, no one had happened by except their handful of friends. Someone with a less-than-sociable purpose would probably come with more men and more stealth… Percival had been right about the likelihood of execution following capture being over, but Gwaine would just as soon forego capture, also. Merlin might have thought the same thing; he'd disappeared from his rocky perch, probably inside the main chamber they used.

Then the knight stepped out from the tree-line, letting his reins trail as his horse lingered obediently, and Gwaine recognized Leon with relief. Then again, the other wore chainmail also, under a yellow-green tunic bearing the symbol of – Gwaine thought, from across the clearing – a black horse rearing in profile. He was stocky and a good head shorter than Leon, and quite hairy about the head and face. A stranger.

Gwaine strode out, intending to intercept them and find out their purpose, before they could enter the ruins. "Sir Leon!"

The younger man definitely twitched toward his sword-hilt; Gwaine reactively missed the weight of his own at his hip – even knowing, whatever this was, wouldn't come to that.

"Gwaine. Good to see you again," Leon said, serious as always but still relaxed and cordial. He reached unhesitatingly to grasp Gwaine's hand, but still glanced about as if expecting Gwaine to be accompanied – looking for Merlin, probably, if he came as messenger from Arthur. But Gwaine preferred to make sure.

"My condolences on the loss of your king," he said – that was only polite, after all, and he did have manners. Even if he dispensed with them most of the time.

"I appreciate that." Leon's smile was a bit more genuine. "This is Carados."

Gwaine turned to the shorter man – yep, rearing horse in profile – seeing now that he was very young, under the beard that, trimmed, still spread halfway down his neck, red-brown, thick and coarse. Younger than Merlin, maybe; he noted the lack of title.

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, transferring the twine binding his hunt to the hand still holding his bow, to extend a greeting. "Any friend of Leon's, of course."

Carados hesitated, looking to Leon.

"It's official," Leon said, inexplicably. At which reassurance, Carados drew himself up and took Gwaine's hand with deliberate gravity, though he said nothing. "Young Carados is to be knighted today," Leon added to Gwaine, "part of the coronation celebration."

"Cheers," Gwaine said to the young man, with a grin that appeared to startle him, and a comradely whack on his arm also. "And you've come out here to –"

"Escort Merlin back to Camelot," Leon said. "And you and Lancelot as well."

"Come again?" Gwaine asked.

"Pardons from the king," Leon said, and there was a definite twinkle in his eye that pricked Gwaine's curiosity.

But before he could question, Lancelot's voice interrupted. "Pardons?"

Gwaine turned to see him and Merlin emerge from the ruins – leading all three of their horses, saddled and ready to go.

"Yes, your – banishments are being lifted," Leon responded, distracted. "You were – ready? and waiting for our arrival?"

"No, this was unexpected," Lancelot said bemusedly, meeting Gwaine's eyes as the two joined them.

Gwaine knew that look, he felt it too. But probably his twinge of regret for the farewell to the excitement of an outlaw life was unshared by a man ill-suited to a life of illegality… Then again, beds and taverns were a possibility now, without a day's ride to the border first.

"Doesn't take me long to pack," Merlin said, with a quiet satisfied amusement, and a flick of his fingers to demonstrate his meaning to Leon.

Gwaine, accepting his reins from Lancelot, noticed that Carados' flinch at the sorcerer's gesture had his gloved hand squeezed around his hilt and his skin beneath the beard an ashy pale. He said to the boy, "Magic is _really_ not that hard to get used to."

It didn't seem to help.

Leon said warningly, "Gwaine…"

"What?" He grinned; if Arthur had sent men to escort Merlin back, he'd bet everything he owned – down to his last stitch of clothing and his father's sword – it was the opposite sort of invitation to what Uther might have ordered. Change was in the air, indeed.

Leon sighed. "Carados, meet Lancelot – and this is Merlin."

The young man accepted Lancelot's hand; Merlin, after a flitting glance at Leon, offered his own. Carados stared at it a moment – then tucked his hands behind his back and dropped his eyes to the ground, shaking his head. Though it seemed to Gwaine, more for apology than added insult. Merlin fisted his in a gesture that seemed uncomfortably vulnerable, and looked again at Leon.

Who repeated in a sort of embarrassed explanation, "Carados is to be knighted later today, part of the coronation ceremony."

"Congratulations," Lancelot told him – and of course there wasn't an ounce of envy marring his sincerity despite his own history with Camelot's nobility, exchanged for Gwaine's story the night they met and stormed the dungeon level against immortal invaders.

Merlin said in sudden comprehension – also directly to Carados – "And there's still that law, isn't there."

The briefest flicker of brown eyes, but otherwise the young knight-to-be remained silent.

"It's all right… How's Arthur?" Merlin said to Leon, changing the subject without offense. "Last night – this morning?"

"He's behaved admirably in public," Leon hedged. "But – he looks tired."

"Get him drunk tonight," Gwaine advised, "then he can sleep all day tomorrow. Get some distance between him and his father's death, he'll be all right." The others looked at him with varying degrees of skepticism. He thought of his own father, the last he'd seen of him waving goodbye as his horse trotted away from their home for Caerleon and war. He sighed and shrugged. "Eventually?"

Merlin shook his head, but a smile lurked around his mouth as he turned to gather reins, get a boot in the stirrup and mount his horse. Gwaine followed his example, and Carados seemed glad of the diversion of the action.

Lancelot lingered. "And Merlin – he has a pardon also?"

Leon hadn't moved, lifting his face to address Merlin. "Not exactly. You have your freedom, Merlin, but there are… conditions." At Merlin's expression of surprise, he added, "From the council. They would appreciate it if you never used magic again."

Merlin's look went from surprise to shock. Lancelot said incredulously, "What?"

"Be reasonable," Leon said placatingly. "Be discreet. Just don't do anything – really public, or unnecessary –"

"No showing off," Gwaine said laconically, guessing where Leon was heading. There was no way Arthur would simply keep the laws that made a criminal of his friend, but law-reversal and popular prejudice and a _council_ , were nothing to handle carelessly.

"Arthur has plans," Leon continued, with a glance of mild irritation at Gwaine for the interruption. "But there are those who would probably love any reason to make him preside over another trial accusing you."

Merlin understood, at least as much as Gwaine guessed. If Arthur was going to be fighting for Merlin's freedom to do magic anywhere and anytime, like he'd done in hiding for almost a year, the young sorcerer would do his part and more, to make the process as easy for Arthur as he could. No obstacles in the road. Merlin nodded firmly. "All right."

"The other thing is…" Leon hesitated. "The council wants to question you about your trial and… your confession."

Merlin's mount tossed his head and stepped restlessly, as the young man clutched the reins. For a moment his face was pale and expressionless. Gwaine remembered those early days too, Merlin's state of mind and emotions. His hands.

Then the sorcerer nodded again and repeated a bit hoarsely, "All right."

Gwaine decided he was going to use his new pardon granting freedom, to stick close to Merlin and make sure he was all right. Because he had the feeling, his young friend's life was about to change completely, again.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin spent half the ride back to the citadel trying to remember what he might have said to Uther's questioner, that he'd have to explain to the council, without recalling too much of the torture, too. He twisted strands of his mount's mane around his fingers – they trembled when he tried to hold them still – he was sure there were at least two deaths he'd mentioned being responsible for, and what if one account led into mention of something he _hadn't_ already told…

"I haven't had the chance to say…" Leon's voice startled him; he hadn't realized the older man had moved next to him in their little procession. "Thank you."

"For what?" Merlin asked, puzzled.

"Everything you've done for Arthur. And for – whatever you might have done, that saved my life."

Merlin felt a bit embarrassed; he didn't remember anything specific. "I was glad to help. I sometimes wished I could do more, except…"

"For the law," Leon finished. "And getting caught and… all of this." Merlin knew what he meant – everything from arrest to outlaw living. "I've spoken to Arthur, a little, and Gaius. A little. I understand that magic isn't intrinsically evil, it doesn't necessarily corrupt a person's character – and if you've had yours all your life, I don't suppose I need to worry about it happening to you."

Merlin sent him a grateful smile – and caught from the corner of his eye, the fact that the stranger, Carados, was riding very close behind. Listening, maybe, but doing a very good job pretending not to.

"I don't trust magic," Leon said slowly. "But I… trust you. Is that good enough for now?"

It was great. It meant a lot, coming from the knight Merlin had often seen as Arthur's most trusted. Merlin said through his grin, "Yes, of course."

"I was meaning to ask you, then – if you don't mind talking about it – how you escaped? From the pyre in the courtyard? We all saw –"

They weren't within sight of the citadel yet; Merlin put his hand out into the air between them, bouncing a bit with the horse's gait. " _Forbearnan_." The flame flickered palely, but resolute. He heard Carados' sharp intake of breath behind them, and spoke clearly, on purpose. "There are other spells to light an actual fire with fuel, like campfire-wood or torches or candles. This one is really only for the light – it doesn't consume and it's not even hot."

"It looks hot."

Merlin held Leon's eyes; after a moment the knight put the fingertips of his glove between his teeth to pull it off, reaching – hesitating – putting his hand into the flame that danced over Merlin's palm.

"You're right, I barely feel anything," he said, surprised. He rubbed his fingers together as if that would help magnify any sensation, then retreated. "So that disguised what else you did…"

"Transportation spell," Merlin explained. "From the citadel courtyard… out here." He saw the thought in Leon's eyes as he extinguished the flame, gripping his hand and returning it to his lap. "It's a difficult one though, a bit risky. Only for… emergencies. I'd never tried it before, I guess I was lucky it worked the first time."

Leon wore a faintly incredulous look. "And if it hadn't?"

Merlin frowned. "I don't know. I might've conjured water to put the fire out, but… I don't know…"

"Why did you wait?" Leon said, sounding genuinely confused – and unhappy. "Why didn't you – escape earlier, if you could?"

Merlin remembered that night also, the first night when Arthur came to cut his bonds and tell him to flee. "I needed Arthur to understand the truth," he said quietly. "And then, I thought, how much harder it would be, to stay and protect him, if you all had orders to hunt me down and bring me back – someone might have thought of using my mother, or Gaius."

"So everyone thought you dead, and no one looked for you – and you risked discovery all over again, to stay and help Arthur?"

Merlin couldn't help his smile. "Wouldn't you?"

"Wouldn't we all," Leon huffed in wry amusement.

"You're not a knight." Carados spoke from behind them. Leon merely cocked his head to show he was listening; Merlin twisted in his saddle. He recognized Carados from training sessions, but he'd usually been occupied – fixing, cleaning, mending, or providing a target for Arthur – and it had been nearly a year. "You're a sorcerer. It doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't take noble blood," Merlin told him quietly, "to understand and _choose_ , to sacrifice for a greater good. Arthur's life is worth ten of mine, for who he is and what he can do - he's a good man, a good fighter, honest and loyal and devoted to his people. Even a sorcerer can die in the service of a prince like that."

"Would you have," Leon asked him quietly, "before he changed his mind."

"Yes." Merlin didn't have to think twice – but smiled. "Though I did prefer to live in his service."

"Have you no ambition for yourself?" Carados asked, and if there was an edge to his curiosity, at least it wasn't accusation.

"I came to Camelot because I couldn't be a farmer," Merlin said lightly. "And became servant to a prince. Without knowing exactly what he has in mind for the future – truthfully I'd rather not be still washing his socks when I'm fifty years old."

Leon laughed out loud, drawing glances from Lancelot and Gwaine, ahead of them – but a-horseback, it was hard to tell Carados' reaction.

And Merlin went back to worrying about what he was going to say, if the council asked him to explain what he'd told the questioner about Morgana.

Almost before he knew it, the towers were in sight – then the lower town – then they were at the gates. Gwaine and Lancelot reined in, looking back at Leon for instruction, and Merlin wondered if he'd ever been so nervous in all his life.

"Follow us up to the citadel," Leon said to Merlin's two friends. "Arthur wants you three cleaned up and dressed up – you're part of the ceremony, too." Lancelot nodded; Gwaine rolled his eyes and opened his mouth and Leon added with humor, pointing a forefinger at him, "He said to tell _you_ , if you refuse, the banishment remains in place."

Gwaine huffed, but Merlin thought even the others could tell, he didn't truly mind. He wasn't one for protocol and ceremony, despite the heritage he'd never claim, but he did know when it mattered.

And it made Merlin feel a little better, to have his two friends riding at his back, through the streets of the lower town. Carados moved silently and without prompting to Merlin's left, and Leon straightened with an official sort of alertness. Merlin couldn't figure if the people wanted to gawk openly, or avoid his attention like the plague. There wasn't any screams of terror like he expected might have been the case if he'd stayed like Arthur wanted him to; the presence of his companions was probably proof enough, he wasn't a ghost.

"Was it this bad," he murmured aside to Leon, "after my arrest?"

The curly-haired knight twisted to stare at him a moment, before remembering where they were and what they were doing, and turned back to keep a vigilant eye on those they passed. "It was… different," he finally replied. "More shock, more sympathy… less fear."

Another compassionate glance from the knight; Merlin did appreciate Leon's honesty, but – he cringed from the expressions of the townspeople. A mix of curiosity and disgust and wariness. The best were just blank, as if those felt it simply wasn't their business, how the new king dealt with a sorcerer back from the dead. At least no one shouted invective – thank Arthur for Leon's officially-protective presence – or threw –

He glimpsed movement from the corner of his eye; a skinny, snarly adolescent made a violent throwing motion from between two huts just ahead and on their left. Merlin reacted, catching the object to a stop in midair – a fist-size rock, and not two feet from Carados' face – the peasant boy took to his heels, away down the alley.

Carados yanked reflexively on his reins, turning wide-eyed and open-mouthed shock on Merlin; he couldn't tell if it was the boy's action or his own, that was the cause. Merlin glanced apology at Leon – who looked more startled than upset – and called the stone to his hand.

No one said anything, though whispers ran like wildfire through the lines of their audience along the street, who surely had seen what happened, most of them. Merlin studied the rock, maybe part of a wall at some point, and confessed to Carados quietly, "I thought it was going to hit you."

The younger man's face twisted strangely; beneath the beard, Merlin couldn't tell his expression, but he sounded angry. "Why didn't you let it?"

Merlin's turn to be shocked. "Well, I… I didn't… want you hurt. You're not my enemy."

Carados clamped his mouth shut, scowling with some emotion Merlin was not familiar enough with him to read. But moments later, after Leon said quietly, "Come on," and started his mount moving forward again, Merlin realized. Two days ago, that was exactly what he and Carados would have been - a sorcerer and a knight-hopeful of Camelot.

He wondered how many of the other knights would still consider him an enemy.

When they reached the citadel, he couldn't help looking around for Arthur, even though knew where his friend would be – in his chamber, putting off the black clothing of Prince for the red-and-gold of King. Orryn would be doing the honors – and Merlin didn't begrudge him that, but… he did wish he could be there.

As his companions arranged for temporary storage of belongings and Gwaine's prey was taken to the kitchens, he dismounted and stood awkwardly holding his reins; his first inclination was still to gather the leads of the mounts and head for the stables. Gwaine took them from him and handed both mounts off to the waiting stable-boy – who couldn't quit staring at Merlin long enough to get close. Carados shoved the boy, not ungently, out of his way and strode off; Leon watched, but didn't call him back.

Gwaine covered the moment for all of them, tossing an arm over Merlin's shoulder and gazing slack-jawed up at the statue at the bottom of the great stair like a deep-country peasant. "Think they'll ever get around to putting up one of me?"

Instead of smiling, Merlin looked at his boots, aware at once of Arthur's bedchamber window… and the little door off to the side that led to the dungeons and down. The people in the courtyard – servants, guards, nobility – were almost too busy about various errands preparing for the coronation, to take notice of them. Almost.

"This way," Leon said, leading them up the stairs. "There's a room for you to use–"

He was interrupted by a lavender whirlwind, spinning past him to knock Merlin off-balance with a tight squeeze around his ribs. He inhaled the scent of the curly black hair and the delicate white flowers tucked into it, and felt instantly calmer. "Gwen."

"Oh, I can't tell you how good it is to see you come walking up those stairs again!" She pulled back, beaming and teary-eyed. "I've missed you so!"

"You saw him last week," Gwaine reminded her.

"You're just jealous I never missed you," she retorted.

"Well, give us a hug like Merlin's and I'll get over it," Gwaine suggested audaciously, holding his arms out.

She rolled her eyes. "Lancelot, you're very welcome, back in Camelot. Sir Leon, I'm so sorry I interrupted. I'll see you all later – not at the banquet, though, only the coronation, I'm so excited – I'm smuggling my brother and Percival in through servants' routes." She leaned closer to Merlin to whisper without explanation, "You've got tell me what you think of it…" And then she was gone, with a wave and a whisk away of happy tears.

Merlin, smiling after her, noticed Lancelot's expression and sighed to himself. He didn't like seeing his friend unhappy, but… Gwen belonged with Arthur, and he with her, and even Lancelot knew that.

The room Leon led them to was a guest chamber, and Gwaine and Lancelot already through the door, when Merlin heard another well-loved voice and turned with a ready smile.

"Gaius!"

"Oh my boy!" The white-haired physician's gait showed his age when he rushed, but the open arms and familiar blue robe and pungent herbal scent were so homey, still, that tears pricked Merlin's eyes even as Gaius' embrace constricted his breathing.

"I'll let Arthur know we've arrived," Leon offered, and they heard the sound of his boots diminishing down the corridor.

"Heaven knows I would have saved Uther's life if I could have," Gaius said into Merlin's ear – in the scolding tone he used to cover his emotion, but it was broken and telling. "But Arthur is ready for his reign. Camelot is ready – he will bring peace and stability to the land. And you – you are finally free."

Merlin didn't argue. He knew that Gaius knew – probably better than any – it wasn't going to be as simple as that. But it did make a difference – oh, what a difference – and an important one. He remembered that Gaius was on the council – at least he'd have a friend there for that – and between his old mentor and Gwen's uninhibited affection, he felt fearless. At least for today.

Now it only remained to see Arthur again, to know that he was going to be okay, having lost his father, and Merlin would be okay, himself.

"In the great hall, you stand by me, you hear?" Gaius said, releasing him and giving him a furious frown, one eyebrow raised. "At the front of course, but I'll be looking for you and waiting, so you don't have to worry about anything else. Now do be quick and wash up and change."

"It's been a while since you told me that," Merlin quipped, as his old friend gave him a gentle shove toward the open doorway. "Gaius – thank you. For everything."

The physician scoffed. "It is I who should be thanking you, my boy. But time enough for this nonsense later. Go on, now."

Merlin was still smiling when he turned into the room, closing the door behind him.

To stop in surprise at the garment Gwaine – between the bed and the fireplace on the far wall - was holding up. Gleaming chainmail, and Lancelot was just laying a second, carefully flat on the opposite side of the cover protecting the bed.

"This is formal wear for Camelot?" Gwaine said in mock dismay. "I think I'd almost prefer _silk_." Merlin couldn't help grinning at the disgust in the voice of his rough friend.

"This is for you, Merlin." Lancelot – who at least already had experience wearing chainmail - reached for a folded fabric of deep blue.

Merlin's feet moved him forward as Lancelot shook it out to reveal a jacket studded with gold, buttons and cuffs and collar. He touched it, and it was the softest velvet. Pinned to the left breast was a scrap of parchment, his name written in Gwen's handwriting; he knew if he examined the seams, he'd recognize her small, precise sewing.

"Damn, now that's fine," Gwaine said cheerfully, unbuckling his sword-belt and shrugging out of his jacket. "You sure I can't have that, and you wear the mail?"

"That would never fit me," Merlin returned, daring to take the deep blue jacket from Lancelot's hand.

"Don't be too sure. You've filled out this last year – all the clean country living we've been doing." Gwaine unlaced his shirt and reached for the back of his collar to drag it off over his head; Lancelot followed his example more slowly.

"In that case, you'd never fit into this," Merlin said.

"There's more," Lancelot said, nodding to the bed where their clothing had been laid out.

And there was. White shirt of the finest linen, dark trousers, even new boots – adorned with buckles like his old ones had been. Merlin was sure that wasn't coincidence, but Arthur remembered?

He felt better than himself, washed and brushed and dressed in them. Lancelot teased Gwaine about a shave and a haircut, but even the roguish former outlaw looked – _noble_ , in the chainmail tunic. And the two stood next to each other in matching dark trousers, new boots, and red gambesons, pricked an idea…

"You think it's appropriate for us to come to this thing armed?" Gwaine joked, watching Lancelot buckle a new sword-belt of wide leather over the metal links of the armor, his own held in his hand, ready but hesitating.

A knock sounded to interrupt. It was Orryn, his fuzzy hair damp at the scalp and erect, but his manner composed. He scrutinized them, then nodded.

"If you'll follow me," he said, turning and assuming. Gwaine shrugged and buckled as he walked, and Merlin followed. "The last of those allowed to be present are entering the hall this very moment," Arthur's servant told them over his shoulder. "You're to wait at the doors with Carados, enter behind His Highness, and stop in a position at the front of the crowd. After the king is crowned –"

 _This is really happening_ , Merlin told himself. _After… the king… is crowned_.

"He will indicate what you are to do."

Faintly they could hear the brass trumpets playing fanfare as they approached – not in the room itself, that would be too loud – at the top of the outer stair, maybe, to announce to those waiting in the courtyard, and the lower town beyond, that the ceremony was starting.

Merlin hung back, behind the other two, as the first slice of the room came into view through the open doors.

 _Crowd_.

Did he really want to go in there. Well, he couldn't _not_ go in there. What if there was a reaction – there was sure to be a reaction, even in the streets there was a reaction. But _Arthur_ was meant to make a stir, not Merlin – maybe he should just slip away in the back somewhere, surely there was a spell he could use to remain overlooked. But if Arthur wanted him, he might look for him, and if he didn't see him…

Past Gwaine and Lancelot, and Orryn stepping back, he saw Carados, no longer in the green tunic with his family's crest of the leaping horse, but bare chainmail, as Gwaine and Lancelot. And had it occurred to _them_ that maybe Arthur was going to –

Carados turned – and bowed.

And there was Arthur. Impeccable and – yes, _regal_ , in his own armor and the full scarlet cloak, golden hair gleaming clean and combed. Almost it distracted Merlin from the slight hollow of his friend's cheeks, the lack of sparkle in eyes darkened by fatigue and grief, and Merlin's heart ached for the knowledge of how to fix it somehow. Couldn't be fixed, he knew that.

 _I wish I could have saved him for you_ , he mourned.

Arthur said nothing to the three others, just looked into each of their eyes in turn. Looked, then, past Gwaine and Lancelot, and beckoned Merlin with an imperious flick of his fingers. Gwaine turned and pulled Merlin through; he stumbled before coming to a standstill before his king. Arthur put his hands on Merlin's shoulders, and searched his eyes – he didn't know what for, but met the king's gaze unflinchingly.

Smile so brief it almost wasn't there. "You are a loyal friend, Merlin," Arthur said softly. Then lightly cuffed Merlin's upper arms through the blue jacket – spun to face the room – and set his shoulders just so, under the chainmail and red cape.

And marched.

Merlin followed, trying to keep his eyes on the gold dragon stitched on Arthur's ceremonial cloak, billowing impressively with each step. Tried to focus on _Arthur's day, Arthur's day,_ the way the rows of people bowed as the king passed –

But couldn't help noticing the looks they gave to Merlin, following in Arthur's wake. The looks, and the whispers.

 _It shouldn't be this way. Nothing should distract from his glory and triumph._

 _His father's death probably already did that, for him._

He tried to see the two of them as the people did – and a shock of realization rippled through him. Merlin was still Arthur's servant, following obediently – yes, as it should be – but. Now a servant with magic.

If he walked with shoulders tucked and head down, he appeared cowed and submissive and… owned. But if he threw his chest out and lifted his head with pride in his friend, happy to be where he was, favored and above one law, at least – it might seem defiant. Proprietary in reverse – they might wonder if Arthur had given him freedom of his own volition, which might prove disastrous for both of them, in the coming days and weeks.

And it shouldn't be this way. Merlin ought to be one of the ordinary dozens, in the third row in his own clothes and – damn neckerchief, even. Not the sorcerer trailing the ruler in this… show.

 _Had Arthur planned it like this?_ a little voice asked.

But before he could answer – or tell it to shut up – they reached the front of the hall, and Merlin slipped into position beside Gaius, beaming sternly, and the other three made another front row across the aisle gap, as Arthur continued forward. And Merlin forgot himself.

The dais was hung with Pendragon banners, crimson and gold and dragon that was probably still a little ironic. The throne was central, flanked by tall candle-trees adorned with fat white candles. And Geoffrey waiting, the loyal crimson mantle of state over his brown scholar's robes… the high gold crown adorned by curved fleurs-de-lis already in his hands.

Arthur knelt on the second-highest step, facing the throne with his back to the people to say his vows – as if in private, with the symbol of his royal ancestors before him – not as a performance for his people.

"Do you solemnly swear to govern the peoples of Camelot according to their respective laws and customs?" Geoffrey intoned.

Merlin actually shivered. Had Uther sworn the same? The vow seemed to him, at least, intended to protect the diversity of beliefs… and abilities?

Did Arthur think so, too? There was a little pause before he spoke, deliberate and clear.

"I solemnly swear, so to do."

"Will you, to your power," Geoffrey continued, "cause law and justice in mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?"

Immediately, and stronger than the other response, if that was possible. "I will."

Geoffrey shifted, to raise the crown over Arthur's head. "Then by the sacred law vested in me, I crown you Arthur, King of Camelot."

Absolute silence as the ornament and symbol settled over Arthur's hair, gold on gold – everyone holding their breath, as Merlin was. Then Arthur rose and turned, one hand on his cloak to clear it from the stairs, chin up and eyes distant in an attitude that was not arrogance, but humble gravity.

"Long live the king!"

Merlin's heart swelled, through his chest and up into his throat with an emotion that was almost painful. Something he could call love, here in the honesty of his own soul. The chant rose up, _Long live the king!_ over and over, and it would sweep out of the citadel, through the town, to the borders and beyond.

Arthur looked solemn rather than pleased, out over the heads of everyone, as a king should, not at those in the closest rows – Gaius and Gwen beside him, her brother and Percival next to the wall so his height would not block the view of those behind – Leon and Gwaine and Lancelot and Carados –

And suddenly Merlin could not let the cry fade without adding his voice. He swallowed – blinked and a tear brushed his cheek – and proclaimed, as if he stood alone in the crowd, "Long live the king!"

Arthur's eyes dropped to his. And one corner of the king's mouth rose in a smile.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

In that moment, when a hundred voices praised their new king, and bells and horns joined to fill the air of the kingdom with their joy, Gwaine knew he would rather be nowhere else.

Knew that Merlin had been right about Arthur, as he so often was about things that mattered.

Arthur didn't grin arrogantly, or scowl as if contemplating his first tyranny. He felt the burden, Gwaine believed, looking up at him, but shouldered it willingly.

And then lifted his hand for silence.

"I thank you sincerely," the young king spoke out over the crowd of his people, "for your support and trust, I shall endeavor to be worthy of it. I hope that you will be as forgiving of my mistakes, as you were patient with my father's."

 _Oho_ , Gwaine thought, _Arthur the statesman, nice to meet you_. He didn't dare look at Merlin's face, wondering if anyone at all in the great hall was unclear which of Uther's mistakes his son had in mind.

"I just now vowed to you all and to myself, to show mercy – pardons have been issued and posted, to demonstrate just that. And because Camelot would be neither free nor prosperous without her defenders, I am pleased to have the opportunity to add to our numbers."

Arthur looked down at the first row Gwaine formed with the other two – and it seemed to him, the king's mood lightened, just slightly.

"Carados," King Arthur said. "Please kneel. Lancelot, please kneel… Gwaine. Please kneel."

What the hell. What the _hell_ …

Carados clinked and rattled, hurrying to obey. Lancelot was just a little slower, dazedly sinking to his knees on the second stair of the dais.

Gwaine turned and looked at Merlin – who was absolutely incandescent with a hilarious kind of joy. Meeting Gwaine's eyes and giving his head a little shake. _Nope. I didn't know_ …

 _But you sure as hell guessed_. Boy didn't even have the grace to look surprised.

Gwaine's neck felt ridiculously creaky as he turned back to Arthur, the chainmail weighting him in place when he wanted to sprint from the hall like a tavern where he'd just lost his last bet and still owed the bar.

Arthur tilted his head – humor in his expression as he waited, but no, this was no joke. _Well? Sir Gwaine?_

What the hell. Gwaine shrugged – _sure, why not_ – and dropped to his knees on the stair beside Lancelot.

The ring of metal as Arthur drew sword raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and he found himself bowing his head, for once showing the respect the young king – _his_ young king – had earned from him some time ago already.

"Rise, Sir Carados, Knight of Camelot… Rise, Sir Lancelot, Knight of Camelot."

Beside him, his friend pushed upright, turning to face the crowd, and Gwaine knew the look that would be on the soft-spoken man's face. Joy at a dream fulfilled, determination to be the noblest knight of all – and he'd do it, too.

The touch of Arthur's bared blade on Gwaine's shoulder was light, and he focused on the sharp edge. An accolade he'd determined to earn and spurn, a responsibility he'd sworn would never catch up with him, a title he'd hated and coveted simultaneously, and all from a very early age.

Now his, like a lightning bolt from a clear blue sky. The exact right place at the exact right time. Destiny. Home.

"Rise, Sir Gwaine. Knight of Camelot."

He did, but didn't turn to face the applause of the crowd, instead taking one more step to stand just below Arthur, who'd lowered his sword to rest point-down on the polished wood plank, enjoying the moment of sharing his glory.

"Leon didn't tell me," he said, under the cover of the cheering.

Arthur's lips quirked. "If he had, would you still have come?"

"Truthfully?... I don't know. The pardon was enough, Arthur, I don't think I deserve…knighthood."

Arthur's smile was definite, as he placed his hand on Gwaine's shoulder – the perfect gesture in that public moment, but completely uncalculated. "That, Sir Gwaine, is why you do."

Gwaine said a bit desperately, "You mind if I get drunk tonight?"

 **A/N: Dude, what I am doing starting with this? This should be the end of a story!...**

 **Some dialogue from ep.4.3 "The Wicked Day".**


	3. The Banquet

**Chapter 3: The Banquet**

Tonight Arthur wished he could stay on his side of the high table. Drink one goblet too many of wine – he'd have no trouble sleeping, after two nights in a row without, and this one close on to midnight - and stew in his anger.

Not anger, he corrected himself. Not that, not when his father was… gone, and he had loved him. But resentment, maybe…

For below the enjoyment of the best food and wine, choice treats and hoarded vintages, past the celebration of a new rule begun, there was… resentment. Glances darted across the room, scowls and voices raised – quickly soothed by remembrance of, this is supposed to be a joyful occasion.

Arthur, presiding over it all, resented his father. _You died and left me._

 _Killed defending me,_ he reminded himself. _Sacrificed his life for mine._

 _Left me with this. This question of illegal magic –_ this sharp knife, he once had thought of it _– that might cut anyone close to me, if mishandled._

Other words came to memory, reluctantly and sweetly. _I swear on my life, I loved your mother… There isn't a day that passes that I don't wish she was still alive… I could never have done anything to hurt her…_

Arthur couldn't blame his father with the same rancor as he'd felt that day, through the pain of lies and loss and manipulative deception. Uther had turned to magic for the solution of an heir, had felt betrayed, and had turned against a whole section of the people he'd sworn to protect and govern in mercy. And the understandable resistance of those who practiced it – perhaps carelessly or dangerously, at times – had turned it into a war.

 _But now I'm to atone for the sins of my father. Put the kingdom back together, stitch up a peace and hope it heals._

 _Should probably just go to bed and sleep. Feel ready and more willing to face –_ this _– in the morning._

But it was his banquet, after all.

So Arthur sighed, refused Orryn leaning to refill his goblet, and rose from his seat.

The others were on their feet as well, those men seated at the high table with him in the place of honor – Leon and Carados on one side, Lancelot and Gwaine on the other. Gwaine had drunk more than any of his tablemates, but Arthur believed he had the head for it; he also believed Gwaine – though rough and outspoken - would never truly disgrace him.

The hall went quiet for a moment, but when Arthur turned to move away from the table toward the side of the room, rather than making any pronouncement – or, heaven forbid, another of the evening's interminable toasts – the music and conversation and clatter of cups and flagons rose again. Three hours into the feast, no one was eating anymore, and many people were on their feet, milling about in the spaces between the lowers tables, placed parallel to each other at either end of the high table, and behind them. Arthur was reminded of the Samhain feast, drifting to mingle – but everyone was twice as aware of him now, his presence and position in the room.

He nodded to bows and curtsies til his head ached and he wondered if he could get away with canceling tomorrow entirely. _Why not, I'm king_. No tomorrow, by royal decree.

"Ah, Geoffrey," he said with some relief, happing upon someone he did wish to speak with.

"My lord," the old man said, turning and bowing again. Arthur tolerated it because it was his coronation; otherwise he'd just as soon people forgot to be obsequious. "This does remind me of the day we crowned your father, may his soul rest peacefully."

Arthur grunted noncommittally.

"Of course, your father did hire conjurors for that feast," Geoffrey added, deliberately casual.

"What?" Arthur was surprised, but only for a moment; of course, it hadn't been against the law at that time. Odd to think his father had ever enjoyed watching magic performed; it made him feel a bit maudlin, at the moment.

"I daresay your young man could put on a bit of a show, if you asked him."

"You know better than that, Geoffrey," Arthur said immediately, turning to seek Merlin out in the crowd – standing in the stairway shadows as he had his first year, watching until he earned serving duties. Gaius stood at the foot of the stairs, talking with anyone who passed, but with the air of guarding the young man who once was his ward. "You know I don't share my father's views on the subject, but I can't force anyone else to change their mind –" Though Uther had, apparently, simply by making it illegal to disagree with him. Can't or won't – maybe it was the same thing. Just now, tired as he was, royal decree was a temptation. "And offending them by asking Merlin to flaunt his immunity won't do either of us any good."

"I suppose giving him his freedom rather than a pardon, means the council could ask him for a demonstration," Geoffrey observed contemplatively.

Arthur suddenly itched to ask the court recorder his opinion of Merlin personally. Too soon to put the old man on the spot like that, though. If he thought Merlin the sort of magic-user to perform for entertainment, he was likely to get a shock when the council questioned Merlin about his confession. Dragons and assassination plots.

"When is the council to meet?" he asked instead. Mostly the king called that body together unless it was one of their regular meetings, but the council could meet and discuss issues without his participation, if there was a majority of members present, though it was considered a courtesy to inform the king, in that case.

"Tomorrow at the first hour after noon. Most of us old men don't over-indulge anymore, but we do quite like our sleep. And it gives a few others a chance to join us."

"Of course. Lord Agravaine, and Lord Maddox?" Carados' father, arrived from the south to witness his son's honor – as Arthur's uncle had arrived from the east to witness _his_ honor.

"And possibly one or two more arriving in the morning." Geoffrey nodded. "Perhaps a week, before we convene the greater council for your first address?"

"Yes that's fine thank you," Arthur said. A week to see how things were going with Merlin back in Camelot, and two commoners in the ranks of the knights.

"I will speak to Orryn about that, sire," Geoffrey assured him. "And following that, we shall need to draft a correspondence to your father's allies… if I'm not –"

"No, it's all right," Arthur said quickly. Head _pounding_. Every time he thought he had this handled, he was reminded of something else he had to see to. "Perhaps we can add an item to the agenda for the greater council and discuss what kingdoms not among our current allies we might approach for… discussion."

Geoffrey's bushy gray eyebrows rose. "Certainly, my lord. If you like, I can compile a summary detailing our historic interactions with such kingdoms in readiness."

Arthur kept his sigh internal. Yes, in addition to Geoffrey's other duties, and Merlin's hearing. " _If_ you have time," he stressed the conditional – "thank you."

"For a worthy cause," Geoffrey said, turning away as Arthur did, "I shall make time."

He was proud to have men like that in his court. He didn't deserve that, it was just good fortune – and maybe he'd had a bit too much wine, after all.

Arthur rounded the pillar at the foot of one of the long tables, and nearly collided with Leon, who extended his goblet to the side, so the sloshing liquid would not spill on either of them.

"Sire," Leon said, surprised. "I'm so sorry –"

"My fault," Arthur said. A servant materialized to dab at the trickles of wine on Leon's hand; the knight took the cloth and nodded both thanks and dismissal. "I haven't had a chance to ask you – how was the ride in?"

He wasn't blind and he wasn't stupid – at least, he hoped he wasn't anymore – he knew he wasn't going to be able to order everyone to like and trust and respect Merlin, as much as he might wish it was possible. Tension, and resentment. At least.

Leon took an extra moment to dry his hand. "He asked me, how did it compare to when we first arrested him."

Arthur remembered that morning. Merlin bound and blindfolded and gagged – Arthur had felt the humiliation, the frustration of being unable to sort the situation to suit him. The impressions and opinions formed by the people - shock, but glimmers of sympathy. And mostly, he thought, because Merlin had looked and seemed a skinny young peasant, helpless and luckless and foolish and everyone forgave him the use of one spell – except for Uther.

Arthur had learned the truth over time, gradually adjusting his perception and recollection of his young servant and friend, knowing him all along – but knowing him better.

It would not be the same experience for everyone.

"Better," Arthur said, "or worse."

"I'd have to say worse," Leon sighed. "Someone threw a rock." At Arthur's reaction, startled and upset, he hurried to add, "No, Merlin did something – it didn't hit anyone, just floated to his hand. A bit of a shock for Carados, though – the first magic he's seen up close since fighting the bones raised when Cenred tried to invade last year, I'd guess."

Arthur grunted, finding the young knight in the crowd, speaking intently and swiftly to a red-cloaked companion – was that Arrok? – and his father, Lord Maddox. The elder had his arms crossed over his barrel chest, face shaven but for a pair of massive silver moustaches that matched his thick hair. Whether or not the knight was Arrok, he clearly didn't like what he was hearing; with a dismissive wave, the knight headed for the open double doors, without turning far enough for Arthur to make a certain identification. Maddox and Carados continued their argument-discussion with barely a pause.

"You took Carados, then, to escort Merlin back?" It was a rhetorical question; the new knight would not have entered Arthur's consideration at all. But the more he thought on it, the more clever it seemed.

"I figured he wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize his knighthood before he received it," Leon said. "He's too young to have been on any of the druid campaigns, but he acquitted himself well in Cenred's siege last year. I felt that if he could get to know our three friends personally…"

Arthur lifted an eyebrow and gave his senior knight half a grin. Not just get to know, but assume the responsibility to actively guard – and that was a feeling that might very well continue now that Merlin, Gwaine, and Lancelot were to remain in Camelot. He hoped.

"Well done," he said to Leon. And that firmed a certain choice of his – as a new king without wife or child, yet – though he'd not tell Leon of it. "I want to speak with you tomorrow morning. My duties as crown prince are going to need to be redistributed…"

"Sire," Leon agreed, unsurprised. Probably he'd anticipated this, as Arthur could not be both king and prince. And that, was another reason this knight especially was so valuable to him – an extension of himself, almost, intuitive and loyal.

"I'll want you to take over much of that," Arthur added. Leon nodded again, thinking perhaps of some of his own responsibilities that he'd have to delegate, also. "I assume you've thought of a plan to introduce Gwaine and Lancelot into our ranks, with the least amount of fuss."

"I have a few ideas." Leon almost smiled. But he straightened, an alert look springing to his face as he shifted his gaze past Arthur.

He sidestepped to see around one of the portlier court ladies, what had drawn his senior knight's attention. Only half the guests remained, but in this large of a gathering, leave-taking was informal. Lancelot was headed for the door, Gwaine's arm over his shoulder – that was interesting, Arthur hadn't thought the two as close to each other as either was to Merlin, though they now had more in common. Maybe Gwaine was feeling his wine, and no one wanted a scene like the newly-knighted commoner falling or knocking anything else – anyone else – over. Arthur thought it was Sir Brenner, with the long black queue, leading them presumably to their new quarters in the knights' wing.

"We'll start with training tomorrow afternoon," Leon added, "perhaps you could join us?"

"I can't commit," Arthur said. "The council has Merlin, then, but if I can… One other thing - the performers are still being held in the cells. If you would please see to their interrogation, it's important that we find out who paid the assassin."

"Yes, my lord." Leon gave him an abbreviated bow, too quickly for him to protest the gesture as unnecessary – unwelcome? –

Coronation banquet, after all –

And stepped back to allow Arthur to continue on his way.

Gaius saw him coming and excused himself from Lord Emund – with a glance over his shoulder to the stair. Arthur followed it to see the stair empty.

"Where is he?" he asked the old man, without preamble. "I haven't really had a chance to talk to him today."

Gaius cocked his head slightly. "At least now we may both speak with him at length and at our convenience – thank you, sire, from the bottom of my heart, for what you've done for him."

"Haven't really done anything, except protect him from arrest that he doesn't deserve," Arthur muttered. "There's so much more I want…"

Gaius had hold of his arm, chainmail and a fold of his cloak. "You understood and accepted, Arthur. That means more to him than…" The old man cleared his throat, drew himself up with a sideways glance oddly self-conscious for the stoic physician, as if he considered the time and place inappropriate for the discussion. "I assumed Merlin would be staying in his room with me, but – if you imagine he will also return to duties for you, sire –"

"No," Arthur said immediately. "No, he – doesn't have to do that. Orryn is…" He huffed, and shook his head, meeting Gaius' eyes so the old man would understand. "A much more competent servant than Merlin ever was, honestly, and he considers it a high honor, I wouldn't… take that from him." Merlin had tried harder than Orryn, but he'd been raised in a farm-village hut and his standards for good-enough were nowhere near Orryn's. "He's a good man – he's not Merlin – but I… can't order Merlin to my chores. Not anymore. He can… do what he likes, as far as I'm concerned. Plenty of time for herb-gathering and errand-running?"

Arthur had plans, but they were vague – and probably should remain so, at least until Camelot became the sort of place where they might be fulfilled.

Gaius cocked an eyebrow. "Gwen has been assisting me in my work this last year, sire, you know that." Lightly scolding.

"There isn't enough work for two?" Arthur said.

He should have thought ahead a little better, or discussed this with Gaius before now, but he'd resisted because it didn't feel like he had any right to plan Merlin's life. He rather hoped Merlin didn't decide simply to return to the ruins he and Gwaine and Lancelot had made home.

"Perhaps at times," Gaius allowed reluctantly. "But –"

"I'm just thinking, for right now," Arthur assured him. "In a month's time… in a year's time…" Or longer. He'd not be so rude as to say it to the old man's face, but Gaius would probably be the first to admit, he could not be court physician through Arthur's reign as he had been for Uther's. Perhaps Merlin…

"I see," Gaius said with a knowing nod. "No, I don't imagine Gwen will be content to pursue matters of bodily health when there are matters of the heart to consider."

Arthur's mouth might have dropped open, just a little. And the flush he felt, due to the warmth of the crowded room. Or the wine. Even though the question of heir could be expected to arise in council – and an heir of the king's blood preferable, always – he was mildly shocked at the old man's implication.

"I mean," he said, "someday, she could… marry, and… so on, but –"

"Don't bother, sire," Gaius said, with humor. "I may be an old bachelor, but I'm not blind. She will make a certain young man of my acquaintance a wonderful wife – and the court and kingdom will be blessed for it."

"You're rushing things a bit," Arthur said, bluntly eager to end this particular discussion. It would be hard enough convincing everyone to accept Merlin, Gwaine, and Lancelot – those three probably understood it was to be something of a fight. But Guinevere might not appreciate their relationship defined in the same terms of strife – _if I choose to wait and hope_ , she'd said.

Gaius sighed, shaking his head. "The young imagine they have all the time in the world – but yes, there is a place for patience in love. I only believe, a woman's love can be a great comfort, in times of discouragement. And there is probably plenty of that ahead of us."

Arthur grunted, glancing about the room and thinking of allowing the feelings of resentment and unworthiness and exhaustion to overwhelm him.

"But what am I thinking, this is a day of new beginnings. The possibilities are as limitless as the horizon," the old man said. "Get some sleep, Arthur. And have faith that the right will prevail."

Well. He no longer had to fear that Merlin would be taken from him again by his father's capricious hate of magic. And as long as he was careful – and yes, patient – he could also hope that the council could be persuaded to trust his judgment on other changes he wished to make.

"Goodnight, Gaius," he said.

And moved past the old man to the private stair. He heard the shuffle of the pair of armed guards – requisite for the king, only logical but something else that would take some getting used to – following his exit.

He reached the corridor and paused. To the left lay the royal chambers – he hadn't moved from his completely-adequate quarters to his father's more sumptuous rooms, and he didn't plan to – to the right, the rest of the citadel. No Merlin in sight. Was it worth it to try to find him, if he hadn't gone back to the physician's tower, trailed by the guards at close to midnight and a touch light-headed for the wine and lack of sleep?

A shadow separated itself from its thicker relations along the wall, movement becoming visible and distinct – the fuzzy hair caught the light of a farther torch and Orryn joined him with a slight but respectful bow.

"Your Majesty is ready to retire?" he said.

Arthur sighed and gave in, turning to the left. _You don't have to call me that_ , he'd already told his manservant, earlier that day. But Orryn was pleased and excited in his own way, to have achieved the highest posting a servant could have, and if it made him happy to voice the reminder in using Arthur's new title, he'd try to tolerate it. For a while. "Yes, I think so."

Orryn followed just behind and beside Arthur, the two guards trying to be unobtrusive behind him.

"What were you doing out here, anyway?" Arthur added absently.

"I beg your pardon, sire – it was my son. Sneaking a look at the banquet – boys are curious – he was meant to be in bed but his mother was working late and –"

Arthur stopped, surprised. Not only for the unexpectedly candid flow of words, but – "You have a son?" And a wife, evidently.

"Yes, my lord." Orryn nodded. "I've just sent him off home where he belongs…"

"His mother?" Arthur was a little disappointed with himself – almost a year Orryn had been working for him, and that was a rather important, though personal, detail he hadn't known.

"A seamstress – they are busy these days with the ladies of the court." Arthur looked at his manservant – an inch or two shorter than him, maybe as much as a decade older – blankly, and in the uncertain torchlight of the hall, he could have sworn the man almost smiled. "Your coronation, sire – the ladies in residence and visiting like to look their best."

Arthur hadn't noticed – and suddenly wondered if Guinevere had done anything of the sort. A new sash, or embroidery, or… Guinevere always looked lovely, but he didn't pay attention to details; he didn't think she expected him to, really, but if she had and he hadn't been aware of it –

He turned abruptly to stalk toward his room, rubbing his forehead to ease the ache that seemed to follow the circle of the crown, as the other three followed. At his door they left the guards, at least.

"Don't bother with those," Arthur told Orryn, as his servant went immediately for more candles; the two or three left spaced about the chamber were enough. "Just – get me out of this stuff."

Orryn went silently and efficiently about his job, taking the crown from Arthur's hands as he lifted it down – it still didn't feel like his. He wasn't sure he ever wanted it to, no matter what everyone else expected.

"I think I've talked to everyone in the kingdom today," he mumbled to himself as Orryn's fingers unfastened the pin of his cloak, far faster than he could have managed, by feel in the dim light. " _Twice_."

Except for Merlin, maybe…

He hadn't realized he'd spoken the last out loud, til Orryn answered, turning back from hanging the ceremonial cape in the wardrobe. "I spoke to him for a moment, my lord."

Arthur twisted to look at his servant, surprised by him again. Orryn moved with him, without comment or protest, unbuckling the sword-belt that flattened the chainmail at his belly. He used to talk to Merlin, times like these; it felt comforting in an odd way, to be able to talk _about_ Merlin, to his new servant. "How did he seem to you?" he asked. "Happy to be back? How long have you known he was alive?"

Orryn took a moment to answer, as if he was putting his answers into the proper order, first. "He seemed tired, but immensely pleased and satisfied to be here today. I have known… quite some time. If you'll forgive me, sire, I – I watched you grieve. And there came a time when you… didn't miss him, anymore. I wasn't surprised to see him with you, the other morning."

Arthur huffed. "Are all servants so perceptive?"

Orryn lifted his chainmail over his head, expert now in keeping discomfort from the process. "The good ones are, my lord."

"And what do they –" Arthur hesitated, hoping Orryn wouldn't misunderstand, or be offended as if he was asking for a betrayal of confidence – "think of Merlin?" Merlin himself had opened Arthur's eyes to the fact that commoners had opinions, too, and how much they could matter – how much they should matter. He'd been Arthur's link to that opinion, more often than Arthur liked – but with Orryn, though he trusted the man's veracity, Arthur always had to ask.

Orryn, unbuttoning Arthur's gambeson, didn't answer til he'd reached the last button, didn't meet Arthur's eyes in lifting the garment over his shoulders. "They are nervous to have him back in the citadel," he finally said. "No one wishes he had died, and… I don't think anyone minds the idea of him near Camelot, ready to help Your Majesty. But… thinking him in possession of such magic as saved him from that pyre, here in the same rooms and halls as we are… I suspect that most will prefer to avoid him personally, sire."

Arthur kicked the leg of the chair next to him morosely, just as Orryn knelt to claim his boots; the servant sat back, looking up at Arthur earnestly.

"It will just take time, my lord. I am aware that Gwen is his good friend, particularly, I am sure that she won't stand to hear ill spoken of him or any such ridiculousness." He held Arthur's boots, one then the other, while Arthur pulled his feet out and stood sock-footed on the rug. Standing, the fuzzy-haired servant clutched the polished-black boots to his chest, hesitating, then blurted – "Nor will I."

Arthur watched the man hurry the boots back to the wardrobe, feeling an urge to smile, and an unexpected calm. How had he managed two such excellent servants? When his youth had been full of the complete opposite – whiny and foolish, he remembered them.

"Thank you, Orryn, you're a good man," he said. "That will be all tonight – go home to your wife and son."

Orryn's brows were raised a moment, til he was sure Arthur meant it, then he bowed. "As you please, my lord. Sleep well."

As his manservant closed the door softly behind him and Arthur padded toward his bed – head and body aching for the simple comfort of mattress and pillows – he had a sudden thought. Perhaps Merlin could attend him, the nights he dined alone, share the meal and evening, in which case Orryn could leave early to be with his family…

Yanking the corner of the turned-down cover back, Arthur sprawled across the bed, only just managing to find and pull it over him before his eyes closed.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin had attended many feasts in Camelot's banquet hall – but this was the first he'd actually been allowed to sit and partake. He made the most of it, focusing on the food and the wine – watered, of course, because he couldn't handle it the way Gwaine with his rock-hard head could.

With an occasional glance at Arthur. Just… because he couldn't help it. Habit, maybe.

They hadn't really had a chance to speak. Merlin wasn't surprised – Arthur was king now, and everyone wanted as much of his attention as they could get. Merlin was quite a ways down that list, and in any case knew how this sort of thing bothered Arthur really, no matter how it seemed to every other guest.

Gwaine and Lancelot had each lifted a cup to him from the high table, different times when they'd caught his eye, but as soon as he'd eaten as much as he possibly could, Merlin had retreated from his place at the table next to Gaius, to the shadowy stair where few would see him unless they looked.

No spell necessary, but now he could observe unseen, like he'd wished to in the great hall for the coronation. He watched Arthur stand and move out from behind the high table, smiling and greeting his subjects – he was such a natural at this, something Uther had never cared to do. And that after – Merlin knew – sleepless nights of grief and guilt and assuming the burden of responsibility for the kingdom. He remembered those sorts of nights, too, after the loss of his father – and at least he'd been able to keep his pain and doubt private but for Gaius. He couldn't imagine trying to absorb well-meaning but clumsy or impersonal sympathy over and over and over and still smile graciously.

He was so ridiculously proud of Arthur. King, and a friend of magic. Was it arrogant of him to consider that _his_ success also? Maybe not as long as he acknowledged that Gaius had a hand in that also, and Gwen, and probably many knights like Leon who'd protected Arthur and taught him things over the years. Even Uther – and Ygraine who surely had gifted her baby son some of her good characteristics also.

But, there was still the rest of Camelot to persuade.

Merlin gave the banquet hall and all its occupants a tired, hidden smile, and turned to make his way back to Gaius' chamber.

Midnight, and away from the banquet hall, the citadel was dark and quiet. Merlin hadn't forgotten a single passage or stair, and in the forest he'd learned to go quickly and quietly and draw no attention – something he thought would come in handy here, now, also.

Would it feel like coming home, or would it feel more like the first time he'd slept there – new and uncertain, anxious and excited? Gwaine and Lancelot would be quartered with their new fellows, much better accommodations than a blanket on a broken stone hearth, or even the branches or rushes they sometimes spread. Beds and cupboards and new clothing – but also new duties and having to prove themselves to the skeptics. Which Lancelot would relish, but Gwaine – harder to say how he would take it. He did love his freedom – then again, he had sworn…

Gaius was still at the banquet, but probably wouldn't be far behind him; if he didn't have to attend Arthur first thing, or meet the council til the afternoon, perhaps he could –

Rounding the last corner before the stair to Gaius' chamber, the torch there blinded him briefly. He saw only a suggestion of movement behind the glare – reacted as though to keep from running into someone descending – and a rough cloth hood was thrust over his head from behind.

"Hey!" Startled, Merlin gasped and flung out his arms – for balance or defense – but held his magic, as he'd always done.

Rough hands gripped him with a physical strength superior to his, brutally efficient with self-assured success, twisting his left arm behind his back, one hard thick forearm across his throat to tip his head back – against the pressure in his arm, but not cut off his air.

"Let me go - what are you doing!" he panted, struggling and flailing to use his right arm to push away from his assailant – though it did no good.

"We know what you are," a voice hissed in his ear, a hoarse whisper distorted by the sacking over his head. "You may have fooled the king, but we are sworn to protect him, even from himself. He'll soon see you for what you are – a lying, sneaking, treacherous _sorcerer_."

Something hit his arm and side – lightly, like a gust of wind or a splatter of liquid. He kicked out and squirmed, but it only served to choke him further, and pull his arm to agonizing tension.

"Escape this, you piece of filth."

Merlin felt sudden heat – then _pain_.

Fire.

And panic.

He couldn't even breathe to scream, fighting terrified to get _away_ and he couldn't the flame was on him in him part of him –

Whoever held him from behind shoved him down – he landed hard on the several edges of the stone stairs but didn't care, writhing to get away from the bright hot sick pain of his right arm _burning_ –

"We don't want you here – take your evil and leave Camelot."

Inside the sack, Merlin sobbed and snatched at the magic that seemed to spurt from him in every direction – feeling the fire extinguish with a faint whoosh of compressing air. He gulped for hot stale air, taut against the pain that ebbed all too slowly.

But it finally did, reluctant to release him in spite of his begging breaths; he forced himself to relax by degrees, down against the stairs. To slow his breathing – he was alive – he was alone?

His right arm throbbed nearly unbearably in the region of his elbow, so he shifted clumsily and uncomfortably to drag the sack off his head with his left hand. He flinched involuntarily at the torch that guttered on the floor of the landing below him, though – he twisted his head around to look – no one was there.

He panted three more times before gritting his teeth and pushing himself to sitting – then slowly rolled his shoulder and stretched his neck to see. The soft velvet of his gifted blue jacket was ruined all down the right side, the fabric charred, and burned away from a patch the size of the ball of his thumb to expose blistered flesh, just down from the knob of his elbow.

Burns, he'd learned from Gaius, always felt worse than they were. The pain would _not_ subside, like it would for a cut or dulled blow, and often the area of damage would seem to spread even after the heat source was removed.

And thinking about it objectively did little to help how he felt – outside and in, nauseated at the thought and the fact that someone would… do exactly as their former king had taught them. He meant to laugh, but the sound that rolled free of his throat in the silence of the dark hall and stair did not sound mirthful, and he turned his attention back to immediate physical and medical needs.

The jacket was ruined. He wondered if he could just cut the sleeve off, rather than trying to remove his clothing – and treat it himself before Gaius or any one else –

Scuffing footfall, shadow bending to claim the torch –

Merlin jerked back, raising his right palm defensively -

A child crouched less than two paces from his feet, hand on the torch, watching Merlin wide-eyed. For a moment they only stared, then Merlin let his hand drop with a sigh of exhaustion, and the boy straightened to replace the torch in its bracket on the wall.

"You're up late," Merlin observed, his voice sounding husky with all of his nerves stretching to contain the pain. To not show it, not to a child, not to anyone.

"I were watching the banquet," the boy said. Then, still watching Merlin, perched on the lowest stair. "Me da sent me home."

A short laugh escaped Merlin's throat again, and this one did not hurt so much. "This, isn't your home."

"Nope. Follered you." The boy had freckles on his round cheeks, and a turned-up nose. His brown hair was shorn close on the sides of his head, but left tumbled-curly on top.

"Why?"

Quick smile, revealing a crooked tooth. "You're magic. Ain't never seen magic."

Merlin wondered if he hadn't, in fact, been very badly injured, and was now delirious. "You're not afraid of magic?" The boy looked him over, then shook his head with frank childish decision. "Brave boy. How old are you?"

"Nine and a half. Next month."

"Good for you," Merlin sighed. And somehow the constant scrutiny of the curious child served to calm him, rather than put him on edge.

"They set you on fire," the boy observed, rubbing the side of his stubby nose with a small forefinger.

"You saw," Merlin said with dismay. Another matter-of-fact nod. "I didn't – I didn't do anything to them, did I? Any magic?" Sometimes he lost a bit of self-control, in pain or in fear, it could be instinctive, unintentional – but that couldn't happen, here and now. He couldn't give any reason for anyone to bring him before Arthur, claiming his magic had hurt someone, no matter his defense.

"Naw, you just –" the boy shoved his hands together through the air without actually clapping them. "Put it out. Burnt ya though, yeah?" Merlin laughed again, but this time it more closely resembled a whine. "D'ja need help?"

"I… think I might." Merlin pushed with his left hand, getting his feet under him. His pulse rolled fresh heat through his arm at the activity and he tried to twist the grimace off his face – the boy was on his feet and still watching, making a face himself in sympathy. "Sorry – didn't catch your name," he gritted, beginning to mount the stairs to Gaius' chamber.

"It's Tobe," the boy said. Keeping vigilant pace, but not touching Merlin

Action was good, though it was shivery-clumsy. Once started, Merlin didn't want to stop, to allow more attention to his arm. He gathered supplies one-handed to Gaius' work-table – everything still where he remembered, but neater and cleaner, maybe from Gwen's influence. Tobe hoisted himself to a sitting position beside him, swinging his legs.

"Your parents will wonder where you are?" Merlin said, handing a small fine-bladed herb-knife to the boy, and turning to present his right arm.

The boy shifted and leaned forward, pulling with unusual gentleness on the blackened velvet, slicing slowly but surely through the threads that held sleeve to garment at the shoulder-seam. "Nah much."

"What will you tell them?" Merlin asked curiously, watching the little fingers ply the knife with surprising precision, and holding still with an effort. "You don't really have to be that careful, just – cut it off, it's ruined anyway. Gaius can use the material for –"

"It's only the sleeves," Tobe objected. "If you match the material, you can fix it. An' I'll tell my da, I was helpin' someone who needed it. He'll understand."

Merlin wondered if the father would be so understanding if he knew _who_ the son was helping – then scolded himself for his cynicism. The boy cut carefully down to the hole burned in the fabric, and pulled it away with Merlin's help. It tended to stick, and he swallowed hard to keep his dinner where it belonged.

Sure enough, the blister just below his elbow was now surrounded by darkened skin. Merlin dabbed the area clean with a shaking hand, then applied a cold wet compress with lavender oil, shuddering until his injured arm accepted the touch as soothing.

"It'll be all right, now," he told Tobe. "Half an hour to cool, then I'll bandage it with some mint paste. You can run on home, now." And before Gaius returned; Merlin glanced about to see what evidence of the mishap he'd have to clear away from the old man's sharp gaze.

"How're you gonna tie the bandage by yourself?" the boy protested suspiciously.

Merlin gave him his best smile. "Magic. And no, you can't stay to see. It's still against the law, you know."

"Izzat why they set you afire?" Clear gray eyes rimmed with a delicate darker line, child-serious.

"Something like that. Come on, now, jump down and off you go."

"Hope your arm feels better," Tobe told him, obeying and using his entire body to open Gaius' door the inches necessary to slip through. One last inquisitive glance – and he was gone in a clatter of hurry on the stairs outside.

Turning the compress to a fresh-cool side, Merlin gathered what he'd need to his room, dusty and quiet, his saddle-bags slumped at the foot of his bed, and put the rest away again in the physician's room.

Then closed himself in his room – hard narrow bed, uneven tables, clothes-cabinet for his few extra garments - all the memories, good and bad. All the hopes and fears, tears he couldn't quite deny, laughter he couldn't quite hold back.

 _We don't want you here…_

 _Follered you… ain't never seen magic._

A year ago, he had stayed for Arthur. His body still bore marks from what he'd been willing to endure, for the sake of proving the truth to his prince – and now his king had welcomed him back openly.

Now, he decided, he was going to stay, to show the truth about magic to everyone else.

 **A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews, if I haven't already done so in a PM! It really does provide motivation!...**


	4. A Second First Day

**Chapter 4: A Second First Day**

Merlin didn't sleep well. The mint paste helped calm the heat and pain in his burned arm, but every time he shifted, it rubbed or pulled at the injury, and he woke.

When dawn came, his head was feverish and achy, the skin down his right side sensitive to the least brush of a clean shirt, the constriction of his belt over that uncomfortable. At least he could bend his elbow and use his arm well enough – he hoped – that no one would notice.

Gaius was puttering at the work-table when he opened his door; Merlin watched for a moment of happy satisfaction, smiling to himself.

"Breakfast or errands first?" he asked, coming down the three steps into the room.

Gaius turned, mildly startled – but pleased himself to have Merlin there, he could tell after three years' familiarity with the old man. "I wondered if I'd have to wake you. There's porridge if you like – and if you truly want to, the morning rounds."

Hollyhock and feverfew for Lady Percival – no relation to their new friend, of course – and old Lord What's-his-name who was blind as a weevil so don't let him drink it all at once. Merlin couldn't quit grinning, and after nearly a year of breakfasts hurried or cold or completely absent, even the old physician's soupy porridge – hot, with a bit of dried apple – was welcome.

Outside Gaius' quarters, though, it was more difficult to hold the smile.

Every single guard he passed stiffened, watching him, gripping and handling their spears and halberds. More than one servant, finding their route approached or intersected his, slowed, halted… retreated to find another way. And when it came to delivering the tonics and ointments Gaius concocted fresh daily, he was met with the same nervous surprise and reluctance – once downright refusal. It was quite like his first day, everyone watching him because they didn't know him, the recipients of the medicaments uncertain of his trustworthiness.

But now, it wasn't because he was a newcomer from a tiny far-flung village.

He whispered to himself what Gwaine had said, more than once, as a small bit of reassurance. _It's really not that hard to get used to magic_. For twenty-five years, no one had seen magic that was harmless. No one had met a sorcerer that wasn't an enemy. He had to be patient with them.

Everyone had known, he was harmless. Merlin the manservant, clumsy and always in a hurry because he was late or overworked or both, deserving of their sympathy for what he had to deal with in a master. Most of them had liked him, even, as he had liked them.

At least no one had screamed or thrown things, this morning. Or set him on fire.

Deliveries finished, he came out to the main courtyard and the wide stair, drifting to the shade of one side and lowering himself stiffly to watch the comings and goings. It was nice to be overlooked for a while, in the bustle of the extra guests Camelot was hosting in celebration of the new king. He thought about walking through the lower town – get that shock of first sight of him over for more people, so they could start to get used to him being harmless again – but he didn't quite have the energy. And didn't quite know whether he might inadvertently spark another incident like last night… He supposed he might go to the forge to visit Elyan, to see where Percival might be employed today… but then again, though he didn't doubt his reception from his friends, he didn't want to cause any unpleasantness for them with their neighbors.

A half-dozen red-cloaked knights crossed the area in formation, the plainly-dressed servants or townspeople moving instinctively from their way. Leon led them, and Merlin was pleasantly surprised to recognize Gwaine and Lancelot also in the company; all facing properly forward except for Gwaine.

His head was up and turning to look all about him, and Merlin realized why, when their eyes met. Gwaine half-turned in his march to keep facing Merlin, a question clear on his face even at the distance. Merlin raised a quick hand to reassure his friend, he was all right, to keep Gwaine from jogging away from the others and maybe getting in trouble, his first day as a knight of Camelot.

Gwaine cocked his head as if unconvinced, and Merlin showed him a wide grin, waving him to continue with his fellows. He did, but elbowed Lancelot and spoke to him – and Lancelot glanced over at Merlin. Who waved to him as well.

Watching them out of sight made him feel better. He wasn't the only one dealing with prejudice, today; if Gwaine could wear the chainmail and crimson cape, and swallow comments about common blood – that were untrue, in his case, though Merlin believed he wouldn't say one word about that – then he could endure the weight of everyone's doubts and fears about magic. Just… prove them wrong, however long it may take.

As Merlin continued to sit and watch the stream of daily life unobtrusively, three mounted riders passed under the raised portcullis and clattered their leisurely way to the base of the stairs. One of the senior servants jogged down officiously to meet them as they dismounted; Merlin watched the two younger riders – wearing the red-gray-black chevron pattern of a private-guard livery – accompany the mounts and a stableboy out of the courtyard. The eldest rider followed the servant up the wide stairs of the citadel.

He was tall and gaunt, his iron-gray hair long and straight, the top half tied behind his head to show a narrow, intense countenance. Watchful, too, if Merlin had not vaguely recognized him as one of the Northern Marcher lords, he might have worried him an enemy.

Then he alone, out of the busy courtyard, noticed Merlin. He paused, his boots on separate steps, then diverted toward Merlin without a change of expression. Who stood, ignoring the twinge of pain of blistered skin over tightening muscle, cradling his right arm against his body as he pushed upright with his left.

"You are he, if I am not mistaken," the man said in a tone of assured command. "The sorcerer our newly crowned King Arthur has forgiven. His former servant."

"I am Merlin, my lord," he answered, giving a shallow but respectful bow.

The servant hovered anxiously; the visiting lord gave a dismissive wave of one hand in his direction. "I have been to Camelot's citadel before, I am sure I can recall my way – and I am confident there are many who can direct me to His Majesty when it is convenient for both of us."

It was the servant's turn to bow and retreat, glancing at Merlin – but so swiftly he couldn't catch the other's expression, in trying to remain courteously attentive to the nobleman.

The moment they were alone, the lord said, "How did you do it?" He sounded fascinated; his eyes were the gray-blue of the twilight sky, set close together over a long thin nose.

"Do what, my lord?" Merlin's days of being able to pretend, _it wasn't me_ , were probably over, but he was always resolved to volunteer nothing, especially to strangers.

"Convince Arthur to let you live."

Merlin hummed to give himself an extra second to think. So many possible responses to that, different but true, and difficult to explain. "I don't think I did, actually," he said finally. "It was Uther who ordered the execution –"

"Of course, but _after_." The lord shifted his weight, flipped his fingers to convey impatience with Merlin's non-answer. "Rumors, boy, you know. Execution, which you escaped – but you're here now on King Arthur's mercy. How did you manage? You threatened him, or someone he loves? I'm aware enchantment doesn't last as long as you'd obviously need it to, if you intend to remain here…"

"I've never enchanted anyone," Merlin said evenly. "Though I've helped break more than one, so I know how strong they can be. And the only people I've ever threatened are those who have intended harm to innocent people, or to Arthur. He will be a great king, fair and just."

"Fair and just," the man repeated, his eyes boring into Merlin's speculatively. "I see – a subtler enchantment. You befriended him. But how long do you suppose his resolve will hold, to exempt you from a law that protects all of us from the evils of sorcery? How long will he allow you to undermine his reign?"

"Arthur's laws will always protect the innocent from evil," Merlin said. "As will I. All I've ever done has been for him, never against him."

"Never, hm?" The nobleman leaned closer. "Have you told him all your secrets, then?"

 _No_. Merlin didn't answer. But Arthur had never seemed too concerned about an exhaustive confession – there were times when Merlin's knowledge or experience had been relevant to a threat or quest Arthur faced, this last year he'd known of Merlin's magic, but he'd been content to accept what Merlin told him, without need for interrogation.

"I understand we're to have a sample of those secrets, complete with explanation and questions answered," the lord said. "I do look forward to seeing you again this afternoon. Merlin." He turned and strode upward toward the citadel's entrance.

Merlin sighed, energy draining from him along with the tension. With the nobility, it wasn't going to be the slow encouragement of familiarity like with the common-born people – nor the daily proof of shared loyalty to the crown he hoped would eventually convince the knights and cadre of guards. He was afraid, with the nobility, they would be ascribing ulterior motives and twisting his words for a very long time.

He was not looking forward to the council meeting.

With the idea of getting something like a meal into his stomach – something light, though lasting – and possibly changing his bandage if Gaius was out, he headed back up toward the physician's tower.

Voices halted him with his hand still on the door; Gaius spoke more loudly than normal, and irately. "No, I do not intend to prepare a fresh tonic for you, my lord, if through sheer foolishness and superstition you have wasted my earlier efforts merely because they were delivered by the boy who is to be my assistant once again - and you may tell the same to those of your acquaintance with similar irrational prejudice!"

The answering mumble was too low for Merlin to identify the speaker or the words, but his hand dropped and he stood still.

"It matters not one whit if Merlin carried the concoction, or if it was Gwen – I happen to have mixed that batch, and neither young person would think to meddle with it, for any reason! And even if it had been one of the two measuring and stirring instead of I, be assured that the quality would remain undiminished, I never allow _mistakes_."

Another mumble.

"That's absurd. Merlin has been assisting in the collection of the supplies that compose every single medicine I dispense for the last four and a half years, including the months you supposed him dead –"

Merlin had heard enough. Someone had thrown away one of the remedies he'd delivered that morning, simply because he'd carried it. Delivered by a sorcerer. Not to be trusted. Obviously.

He turned and trudged up five more stairs to get to the window on the landing above the physician's quarters. The sill wasn't wide, but it also wasn't high; he put his back toward Gaius' door and sat sideways next to the sunny glass, one boot propped on the casement opposite, one on the floor.

It wouldn't help matters if he simply made himself scarce – he had to prove he was the same person, with the same feelings and motivations, everyone already knew, and he couldn't do that by hiding away. But if his determination to act normally, to make himself useful, actually created more problems and more work for his friends…

"Merlin?" The soft shuffle of footsteps approaching up the stair was punctuated by a breathless feminine voice.

He shifted and looked over his shoulder to see Gwen, wispy curls escaping the knot of hair at the nape of her neck. The large basket she carried over one elbow, supported by her other hand, almost obscured the apricot-colored dress she wore.

"What are you doing up there?"

"Gaius has a visitor," he explained, though maybe she knew that hadn't used to stop him entering, before. No one had minded that, before, Gaius' boy and Arthur's manservant, popping in curious and offering to help. No one had minded complaining of his shortcomings to either of his masters in front of him, either… and at least he'd probably deserved those complaints, through his own carelessness or hurry.

"Ah." She glanced at the door – then lowered her basket against the wall opposite to climb the rest of the way to him. "How was the banquet?"

"Delicious." It was easy to find a smile for her.

"Percival and Elyan said to tell you congratulations. They told _me_ , I'm going to have to cook a feast one of these nights, when you and Gwaine and Lancelot can all come to celebrate with us."

"It'll be nice not to have to sneak through the lower town to come to your home for dinner," Merlin said humorously. Ignoring the pang of regretful longing – he might prefer to sneak through the lower town, if he was going to get looks like the citadel's inhabitants had given him.

Gwen hummed and tipped her head to study him. "How was this morning?"

He shrugged, keeping the smile. "Fine."

She opened her mouth, but was interrupted by the sound of the physician's door opening, below them and behind him.

Gaius' visitor was still speaking. "Just keep him away from any of my medicines – and I'm sure I won't be the last to say so, either!"

Gwen's dark eyes widened with shock, as heavy footsteps descended away from them; Merlin turned to the window to avoid that expression, with sympathy added, focused on him. "Merlin –"

He didn't respond, didn't look at her. So focused was he on peering through a particularly cloudy pane of the window – _it doesn't bother me, it_ doesn't – he didn't notice her movement or intention, until her hand gripped his elbow.

If the window had been open, he'd have tumbled right out.

As it was, he almost fell to the ground in trying to twist away – and hold still at the same time – letting out an involuntary hiss of pain.

She let go immediately. "What is it, what's wrong – you're hurt?"

At the moment, the renewed throbbing was too acute for him to hide or deny, so he didn't try – but he didn't answer, clenching his jaw and screwing his eyes shut. He felt Gwen follow his retreat, perching on the sill of the window beside him, felt her reach for his arm. Gwen had learned a great deal also, in her months as Gaius' assistant. Her touch was gentle and light – one hand on his upper arm to hold him still, the other pushing up his sleeve – up to the edge of the bandage, as he tensed and drew back into the stone of the casement.

He made himself open his eyes, then, to watch as she folded the sleeve carefully up and over his elbow, out of her way. The bandage he'd wrapped last night was stained through, a small yellow patch showing the seepage of the burn.

"What happened?" she said, her eyes on the bandage but her hands stilled.

So he told her. In short, vague, self-conscious sentences.

"Do you know who?"

Merlin pressed his lips together, shaking his head – relaxing slightly as the pain from her inadvertent pressure eased. "I guessed guards – or knights, even – the one who spoke said something about being sworn to protect Arthur, even from himself."

"He has to know," Gwen blurted, meeting his eyes finally – and he could see the distress she felt plainly, now. "We'll have Gaius look at this again, and then tell Arthur-"

"No," he interrupted, reaching with his left hand to cover the bandage with his sleeve again. "No, we won't. I don't know who, and telling him that would only complicate the problem for him." He could see from her expression that she didn't understand, but Arthur was already defending him to every one of his citizens in spirit – Merlin did not believe it would help that fight if Arthur had to defend him in fact. "Listen, if something like this happened to Gwaine or Lancelot because someone didn't like commoners being knighted, what would you expect them to do – go tell Arthur?"

Her lips twisted ruefully as she resisted the comparison – but not successfully. He answered for her.

"Gwaine wouldn't rest til he found out who, then he'd kick them around the training field twice to prove his point. Lancelot would –" he paused, then grinned. "Lancelot would forgive them, then strive to be a better knight, himself. I won't lie to Arthur, but do you see how telling him, could make this worse for everyone?"

She sighed. "Not really. I suspect it has something to do with you all being _men_. But at least let me –"

Again the opening of the physician's chamber door interrupted. Merlin leaned to see past Gwen, as Gaius appeared – looking down at Gwen's basket first, then up and around to find them. "Ah, there you two are – what are you doing?"

Merlin's hand found Gwen's and squeezed lightly. "Chatting," he said innocently.

"Well," the old man said, regarding them with a mix of suspicion and grudging approval, "don't lose track of time – the council will not appreciate being kept waiting, and it would be wise of you to eat something before you go."

"I'll take him to the kitchen and make sure he eats," Gwen offered, and gave Merlin an affectionately severe look when he scoffed.

Gaius nodded, then turned to descend the tower stair, out of sight.

"At least let me take a look and re-bandage it," Gwen finished to Merlin, retaining the look that said, he would eat and like it.

It was a concession he could make, so he followed her down the stair. She ignored his attempt to pick up her basket for her, and brought it inside the chamber herself, then bustled about exactly as he'd done the previous night.

"Sit down there," she instructed. "I'll boil this bandage later, there are some other rags that need it, too…" She unpeeled the strips of fabric from his arm, far more gentle than Gaius would – but nowhere near as accustomed as the old physician at covering her reaction. "Oh, Merlin…"

"It's all right," he told her. "You know it always looks worse the second day."

"I'm so sorry I grabbed you like that," she said, dabbing the injured area clean – grimacing but not cringing back from the task – and swabbing it with a mix of honey and lavender oil.

"You didn't know." He focused on the inverted handfuls of greenery tied to the drying rack behind the door; she was gentle but each touch was exquisite pain.

"You tended it by yourself last night?" She began to wind the clean bandage, more neatly than he'd done one-handed.

"There was a boy who helped me," he told her. "He said his name was Tobe."

She hummed thoughtfully, tying the bandage neatly. "Arthur may find out anyway, then."

"Why?" He stood from the bench and adjusted his sleeve to cover the bandage again.

"Because Tobe is Orryn's son."

Merlin thought on that, seeing the resemblance in his mind's eye, as Gwen crossed the room and mounted the stairs to his small chamber. "Wait – Gwen, what are you doing?"

He followed quickly, taking all the stairs in one step, rounding the door to see Gwen at the wardrobe, holding up the ruin of his blue velvet jacket. She stood with her back to him so he couldn't see her face, but her head shook slowly, the curly tendrils that escaped her knot of hair trembling.

"I'm sorry," he said inadequately. The jacket really was ruined – not just the sleeve, there was damage to the fabric all down the side where it had caught flame without reaching his skin. The shirt was a little better, but stained from the injury. "I did like it, very much – you sewed it, didn't you? it was a wonderful job and… I'm sorry."

She folded it slowly, careful not to touch the charring, then set it away. And when she turned back to him, there were tears on her cheeks. She came to him and passed her arms around his ribs, exactly as she'd done in the tunnels below Fyrien when she'd first seen him 'alive' again.

"I have the idea," she said, resting her face against his shirtfront – he felt the wet of her tears seep through, and put his arms around her, "that you have been very brave, all along, where no one – maybe not even Gaius – could see it." She released him and stepped back, but held his gaze intently. "Please let us do the same for you, now, where everyone can see. Don't be brave alone."

"You," Merlin said with a smile, "are the bravest girl I know, and I will definitely think twice before crossing you." Almost he said, _Your Majesty_ – but it wasn't yet time for jokes like that.

"All right, then," she said, smiling, and wiping away the last trace of tears. "Let's go get something to eat."

Walking through the citadel with his friend was so much nicer than by himself. No one turned on their heel to hurry the other way, though there was plenty of staring and whispering. Gwen kept up a determined stream of gossipy chatter, giving challenging looks to those they passed, and Merlin couldn't keep from smiling. Gwen really was incredibly special. Maybe one day when it was her turn to weather gossip and glances askance, he would be in a better position to provide comfort and support, standing by her.

The kitchen was almost always a busy place, with so many to prepare for – the next meal started almost before the washing-up from the previous one was done. And now they had extra to do for the noble guests of the coronation, and their retinues.

Work didn't exactly cease when Gwen and Merlin entered the room - twice the size of the king's council chamber – but definitely paused, and conversation died to a startled hiss of whisper here and there. Gwen didn't falter, leading him to the table where leftover scraps were available for whoever got to them first.

"The last was Lord Bernard, I heard he arrived this morning so it'll be the whole greater council after all…" A wry smile over her shoulder.

And immediately following, a voice rang out over the simmering tension of the kitchen, arguably the council room of the citadel's servants. "No, he is not going to enchant or poison the food, you daft fool!"

Merlin turned – half the eyes of the workers and loiterers on him, half on… Orryn. The new king's fuzzy-haired manservant moved down the row between tables – toward Merlin, and without hesitation.

"Good morning, Merlin," Orryn said, rather more loudly than necessary, sensitive to their audience. "How are you feeling?" His hand hovered inches away from Merlin's right elbow with clear significance. So Tobe told his father about helping him, and evidently his father _hadn't_ minded.

"Much better than last night," Merlin assured him, then added in a murmur, "Don't tell Arthur?"

"He won't hear it from me," Orryn assured him, and both of them ignored Gwen's _humph_. "Now…"

He turned to the opposite table, where fresh and steaming dishes were laid out, piled high with food for the servants to carry upstairs to their masters on trays. Several hovered impatiently – anxiously – for Orryn as the king's manservant to choose the best of it, before they collected meals for their masters or mistresses.

"Merlin, would you mind giving me a hand? His Majesty desires a private meal this noon, something quick and simple – but hearty, as there is the council meeting and possibly training with his knights this afternoon, and he hasn't yet decided whether dinner is to be another public feast, or served individually."

"Um," Merlin said. Because it had been a long while since he'd done this, and Orryn had the experience of nearly a year, he couldn't possibly _need_ Merlin to help him… assemble the king's food and drink in front of – at this time of day – more than half the citadel's servants. "Sure, I guess…"

Gwen gave him a smile and nod of encouragement, and the room seemed collectively to gather closer.

"The pork loin," Merlin said, "roasted in apple brandy? Herb-bread – two rolls of that? And… carrots?" Orryn seemed perfectly content following his suggestions, cooperating with him to fill the king's tray. "Oh, not the brown sauce, the white is better for midday…"

Merlin reached without thinking, intending to dip his finger into the dish for a taste – sometimes Arthur liked it saltier than it was made –

And the plump, red-faced cook, who'd ended up across the table from him, raised her wooden spoon in reactive threat.

He flinched back, aware that the table was ringed by watching servants several deep, craning over each other's necks, some even standing on stools or benches, to watch their fellow servant trust a sorcerer with the king's food. But after an initial retreat he held still, feeling instinctively that they might panic and scatter like children or wild creatures if he moved too fast or suddenly.

Audrey didn't retract her spoon. "What is that," she demanded, now using her utensil to point.

He turned his hands over, palms up, showing her they were empty, and he wasn't snitching where he wasn't supposed to; he hadn't put dirty fingers into a communal dish. But he'd misunderstood.

"Your finger, boy," she snapped, irritably impatient. "What happened to your finger?"

"Oh," he said stupidly. Because yes, it was obvious, the way he was holding his hands, that the smallest finger on his left hand ended at the last joint. "Well…"

"Uther's questioner," Gwen said, her voice carrying clearly through the room, finding – to Merlin's embarrassment – an avid audience. "Before Uther held Merlin's execution in the courtyard, condemning him to burn to death for daring to save Prince Arthur's life with magic – they tortured Merlin."

He really wanted an excuse to spin and sprint away. As it was, all he could do was clench his fists and stare at his boots. The silence seemed to last forever, before Audrey spoke again, in her brusque commanding way.

"So if you saved the prince with magic and they near killed you for it – if we all thought they _had_ killed you for it – why did you come back here?"

He didn't lift his head, but dared raise his eyes to her – hair obscured by a dingy unattractive scarf, wide face flushed with honest work and command of her own domain. "I wanted Arthur to know the truth," he said. "A king needs to know the truth to rule justly, right? Now he knows… and that's good, but I want everyone in Camelot to know the truth, too."

"And what is the truth?" she said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, as she planted her knuckles on her ample hips. He suddenly wondered how old she was, how much she might remember of the time before the Purge.

"Magic isn't evil," he said. "It just is. Another kind of skill, and one that I've had as long as I can remember. My mother taught me to help people, not to use it selfishly or manipulatively, not to hurt anyone. Since I've been here in Camelot, I've been learning to use it to defend all of us against our enemies."

"You use magic against other sorcerers?" someone said.

Merlin didn't turn to see who'd spoken, still facing the cook, with Orryn and Gwen at his side. "Yes, if I have to. Because it's not about _having_ magic or not, it's about how it's used. It's about who you're loyal to, and doing the _right_ thing, no matter what."

Silence again. He wanted to glance around the faces of the other servants to see their reactions, but he didn't.

Audrey grunted. "Well. As long as you're loyal to King _Arthur_ … you're welcome in my kitchen –" another threatening gesture with her spoon – "but keep your hands to yourself."

Merlin raised them as if in surrender, and the plump cook turned. "All right, you lazy lot! Back to work!"

Several of the servants grumbled as they shifted and turned and obeyed – a few still cast wary sidelong glances – but the atmosphere of the whole room had eased into something more normal. Merlin let out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. That hadn't been so bad.

"Come on, eat something," Gwen said at his elbow. Her dark eyes danced and her smile was unwavering; he found his own lips pulled upwards in response.

Until he remembered, the council. And stopped smiling.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Two weeks, Arthur thought, watching the greater council organize itself. Surely no more than a fortnight, and half these men would go home – hopefully to keep running their estates and paying their dues – and the other half would go about their business. And everything would settle back into routine…

"Good afternoon, Your Highness."

Arthur turned to see the last arrival standing at his side, Lord Bernard's blue-gray eyes intense as always, his hands clasped behind his back serving to emphasize his lean figure. "Good afternoon, my lord," Arthur returned. "Pleasant journey, I trust?"

"Very. I apologize for missing the ceremony honoring your father."

An oddly lonely feeling swept over him at the words, as it had almost every condolence since the night of his birthday. There was a sense in which he, as crown prince, had been the equal of many, as they were all below the king. But now he was king, and felt… inescapably aloof. As if the position itself was unapproachable, and in ascending to his throne, he'd left everyone else behind, and didn't know how to bridge that gap.

"Don't be troubled," he told the lord. "I'm sure you came as soon as you could. And how did you leave Descalot?" Arthur fought his memory briefly and achieved a measure of victory. "How is your daughter?"

"All is well in Descalot. However, my daughter is, as always, too delicate to travel as far as Camelot."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Arthur said politely; he'd never met the young lady, to his knowledge. "Since the death of my father's ward last year, there has been no hostess to entertain our guests in Camelot – I'm afraid your daughter might have found things dreadfully dreary here, if she had come."

Lord Bernard hummed noncommittally, looking away into the room. "Perhaps. Perhaps not… I find the question highly intriguing, myself."

"I beg your pardon – what question?"

"What sort of debt you must feel you owe him." The nobleman's steel-blue eyes fastened on Arthur's. "To spare his life, and keep him close."

Arthur's head turned of its own accord to the point where Bernard had been looking – to see that Merlin had entered the room. Quietly, and making his way along one wall – perhaps to approach Arthur obliquely. Dressed in peasant-worthy trousers and plain-thin blue shirt; at least he was wearing the new buckled boots, but – not even a jacket.

"He risked his life to save mine," Arthur said. "And asked no favor or reward, except –"

Bernard pounced. "Except?"

Arthur met his eyes again. "Except that I not hate. Please excuse me."

Brushing past the older man, he strode toward Merlin – who startled to notice him, as if he didn't know whether to feel more apprehensive, or more relieved.

"I hope your morning was better than mine," Arthur said without preamble, low enough so they might not be overheard. They had moments only, before Geoffrey called order, since everyone was present.

Merlin eased into a slight smile. "Running errands for Gaius… but I got to spend some time with Gwen." Arthur gave him a dissatisfied grimace – of course he'd said that because it would make Arthur jealous. Merlin's grin widened almost slyly in response. "It's made me think of my very first day in Camelot, actually."

Arthur remembered that, too. "Perhaps I should put you in the stocks, for old times' sake?"

"Perhaps you should, to prove a point," Merlin murmured, looking past Arthur at the old men of the greater council. "I was thinking of what you said to me the second time we met, though."

That memory was fast and sharp and privately shameful to Arthur. Something about making Merlin walk on his knees… And the uncultured peasant had looked him full in the face, defiantly unafraid. It made Arthur feel slightly ill to think of how he'd treated Merlin – and all that he'd gotten in return, that he hadn't deserved, that had taken him so long to appreciate. To come to the point where he valued that courageous honesty, that direct challenge. "Merlin, I –"

"You said, don't walk away."

He looked into the deep of his friend's blue eyes, and it suddenly felt like they were the only two in the room, not king and servant-subject-sorcerer, but just two young men trying to figure out who they were going to become.

"And you didn't," he said, his voice feeling a little rough. "And you haven't."

"And I won't." Merlin squared his shoulders and lifted his chin slightly.

Arthur saw him in memory, picking up a weapon he'd never seen in his life, let alone handled, and preparing to face the kingdom's champion. Arthur saw a champion, himself, but was afraid the others would only see the peasant – and one with dangerous and still-illegal magic.

"You know that blue jacket, Merlin?" he said, letting his tone scold the younger man a bit. "I meant for you to actually wear that. A mark of my regard, for people to remember when they see you."

Merlin gave him a troubled look, wrapping the fingers of his left hand lightly around his upper right arm, just above the elbow. Arthur, sure that he'd misunderstood somehow, gave a hard sigh and rolled his eyes, moving away from his former manservant as Geoffrey raised his voice, calling for order.

The council table had been moved to the head of the room, against the wall, and laid out with pitchers and flagons and trays of refreshments, attended by a pair of inconspicuous servants. The chairs had been added to, and arranged in a semi-circle, though not everyone had made himself comfortable in one.

Geoffrey gave a short address, reminding the council of the facts of Merlin's case as well as Arthur's coronation proclamation and its conditions. Arthur watched as Gaius shifted in his chair, looking for all the world like he was preparing himself mentally and emotionally for a siege. He watched Lord Rowland gaze vaguely at the floor as if his thoughts were entirely elsewhere, as Lord Emund bent sideways to listen to a private comment Lord Urbert offered from the next chair. He watched his uncle Lord Agravaine lean on the back of his chair and glower darkly at Merlin; Lord Maddox shook his head to something Lord Bernard said to him, behind the row of chairs.

"We will begin with the claims made at trial," Geoffrey concluded, taking in the company at a glance. He seated himself in the chair nearest Merlin, on the young man's right as he faced the council's arc, and unrolled a scroll. "Then move on to the reported confessions."

Merlin shifted his weight, clasping his hands together in front of him – giving a glance to Arthur, who stood next his own chair, on the end opposite Geoffrey, one arm resting on the top of it. Arthur couldn't help think of Merlin weeping quietly on the dungeon floor, beaten so badly he was helpless even to turn away. _You have to tell them the truth_ … He wondered how Merlin might compare facing Aerldan to facing these men – wondered how he might have spared his friend this second trial – and didn't see any way. Not if they wanted complete and open acceptance, eventually.

"At your trial –" That was Lord Emund, sitting slightly forward to gain Merlin's attention. "You said, you didn't know how long you'd been using magic. You didn't know when you started, no one taught you, and you didn't learn it."

"That is correct, my lord," Merlin answered. "I've had magic since I can remember. Born with it, I've always believed…"

Clear and coherent and respectful, and a shocking difference from his first trial. At least there was that, Arthur thought.

"Impossible!" Lord Urbert spat, and the murmur that ran through the rest of the observers was agreement with the sentiment.

"I beg the council's pardon." Gaius stood. "But I can speak to the truth of that, and corroborate several other points of Merlin's confession also. His mother, Hunith, was a friend of mine, she wrote to me –"

"Gaius," Agravaine interrupted smoothly. "We all trust you implicitly where matters of our health are concerned, but you cannot expect to bring hearsay to the council as proof. You might have been mistaken, or misled –"

"I testify to the truth of Merlin's claim as well," Arthur said, and the room fell silent, every eye on him, including Merlin's. "When we thought him dead, I crossed the border to Cenred's land to speak to Hunith of Ealdor, Merlin's mother. She said the same to me, that he'd done magic as an infant… surely you don't mean to imply that I was mistaken, or misled."

"Of course not," Agravaine hastened to assure him. "It is only… so rare an occurrence… I for one have never heard…"

Arthur glanced at Merlin, and something – something on the young servant's face, as his eyes were cast down to the stone of the floor, something in the set of his shoulders as he waited silently – gave him pause.

 _He doesn't want me here._

Did Arthur's defense help Merlin. Or did it make these men suspect the same thing Uther had, the same thing the knights had checked, scant moments after the revelation of Merlin's secret. The more Arthur said in favor of a sorcerer, the more suspicious they became of him, was that it? Would Arthur's presence actually hinder their belief in the truth, in these proceedings. Would the lords hold back their thoughts while their king could hear, and then retain their misinterpretations – might they think Merlin lying if his master stood in the audience, might they think Arthur had told him what to say.

Or was it something else?

Arthur knew many of the stories behind the confession Uther had discarded as the mad ravings of a boy broken under torture, but he never really told Merlin, how much he knew. Would Merlin hide, would he say too much before strangers in an attempt to apologize to Arthur. Would there be anything said that would hurt or shock either of them, so much closer to the incidents mentioned than these men. Things that might damage their cause - to win approval no matter how grudging - before Arthur stood before them and said, _My father was wrong his law was unjust and I propose the following changes…_

If it was him. Arthur straightened, inhaling with sudden realization.

If their positions were reversed, he would not want anyone defending or excusing him – though Gaius was an exception, being old, educated, experienced, physician and guardian and former sorcerer himself. He would want to stand on his own two feet and let his words fly, true and fast as arrows to the mark, without worrying about bystanders. He did not intend that Merlin should be there when he addressed the council, no matter what Gaius said about, _I wish he could have heard you_.

Arthur cleared his throat, interrupting the discussion over the veracity of historical reports and expert speculation – _born with magic_ – and gaining the attention of the room immediately.

"My lords," he said. "I charged my servant to tell the questioner the truth. And I am absolutely convinced that he did so, with very little benefit to himself. I am confident that he will do so now, before you – as I am confident that his explanations will absolve him of any accusation of treachery, or ill intent toward our kingdom and people, whatsoever. So much so that I am going to excuse myself from these proceedings, and let the council carry on."

Surprised silence. Arthur moved the edge of his cloak behind him and stepped to where Merlin stood, still and alone but somehow resolute, in the middle of the floor, and spoke again clearly, for the benefit of the old men.

"You know you can answer some questions with, _it's none of your business_ ," he told Merlin. "Sometimes that is the truth." Merlin didn't smile, but neither did he look desperate or distressed.

Arthur felt, a little desperate and distressed. He wished he could hide Merlin behind a tree and spin his sword at his side before settling in to let instinct and training take over… but Merlin could probably never hide again, anymore.

He gave the younger man a light clout on his shoulder to show comradely solidarity – and avoided Gaius' expression also, to stride through the shocked-watchful quiet to the dually-guarded door.

At least now he could go to the training grounds and hammer away at something with the weapon of his choice.

Something satisfactorily heavy.

 **A/N: Just to let you all know, I'm heading into another military training month – hopefully the last of its kind, as I'm contemplating freedom next year and a job change! What it means this time is that I'll have extra time for a couple weeks, and then none at all for three or four… I'll keep you updated on my status, and if we're all** _ **very**_ **lucky, I'll be able to finish this before NaNoWriMo in November!**

Kirsten: Thanks for your reviews! Are you by any chance a writer yourself?


	5. Maneuvers

**Chapter 5: Maneuvers**

Gwaine was bored and restless. But every day couldn't be as bad as the first. He hoped.

It was loss of freedom, he guessed. Having to follow a schedule not of his own making – though that might get better with time and trust? Just now it was, march here and wait. Learn the routes, learn the posts, who gives orders that supersede standing orders, what responses are appropriate in which circumstances and to which strangers… Gwaine had sworn his life to protect.

That was a funny thought. It made him feel warm, protective, paternal toward the people all around…

Okay, march again and wait and listen to another lecture. Til he was ready to volunteer for patrol duty – the furthest reaches, the coldest wettest moors – did they need a spy in a foreign court? Gwaine was willing.

What made it worse was that Lancelot was actually enjoying every minute that Gwaine chafed.

At least, he found, he didn't mind the sidelong looks and snide remarks. What one of them had stories to match a single one of Gwaine's? He'd fought pixies and wyverns. He'd seen Avalon. He pitied these mere mortals.

And then they got to the training field, and the sun came up on Gwaine's day, though it was starting to descend in the western sky. Even if they had to spend an hour first in rows and columns, learning the drills.

"Think he's all right?" Gwaine said to Lancelot, beside him in the grid of other knights, not bothering to try to memorize the movements he followed naturally, with only half an eye, only a split second late. Lancelot knew who he meant, but took an extra moment to carefully, watchfully copy the drill. Crouch-step, slash, spin, pause – all at quarter-speed.

"I was only here for a few days, before. But I got the impression… he never really had the time to… sit down and watch the courtyard in the… middle of the day."

"So you think he's fine," Gwaine said. Block-parry-step-retreat-duck. He could probably doze a bit and still keep up.

Lancelot spared him a glance. "It'll probably take some time," he said mildly.

"Oi! You two!" The knight leading the drills, a dark-skinned man with grizzled gray hair drawn into a knob on the back of his head, beard trimmed close to a still-strong jaw, caught their attention, glowering at them with his hands on his hips. "We all know you two are favorites of His Highness, but that doesn't excuse you from training, you got that?"

"Maybe they don't have to pay attention," sneered another from two rows over, next to black-haired Brenner Gwaine vaguely recalled from the banquet, and after. "Maybe they can learn the drills by _magic_."

A stir through the ranks. Taunt or accusation, not even Gwaine was sure.

"Only way commoners know which end of the sword to hold," someone behind him muttered.

Gwaine turned, but not quickly enough to see who it might have been – no one was meeting his eyes. He bit his tongue on at least five rude or sarcastic or challenging retorts – wondering why he bothered, since they'd all learn sooner or later how outspoken he could be when provoked, why not today – when Sir Leon twisted between two of the knights waiting out the disturbance in their formation.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"The new men," the older dark-skinned knight said. "Feel they're special enough to have a conversation, rather than focusing on participation."

Leon snorted, tipping his head at Gwaine in sardonic rebuke.

"They're not difficult drills," Gwaine said. "You know they're not."

"You two are rather more experienced than our new young knights usually are," Leon conceded, "but there are still requirements."

"Experience, exactly," Gwaine said, smiling to soften the criticism. "Much better than _repetition_."

Perhaps knights weren't meant to question the orders of their superiors, or the customs of the brotherhood, but Leon didn't appear offended. "You can't possibly be suggesting that we send our knights through the countryside to get into tavern brawls as part of their training."

"Of course not," Gwaine returned, glancing sarcasm at the dark-skinned knight. "Then I wouldn't be special, anymore."

"Your kind of special needs to be confined to you," Leon said, managing to combine humor with gravity, and not make Gwaine feel like he was mocking him. He might have said more, perhaps admonishing Gwaine to follow rules and keep his mouth shut, when another ripple passed through the men, taking focus far to the side of the field. Gwaine shifted to be able to see past Lancelot.

It was the king, gleaming golden hair and chainmail, scarlet cloak billowing as his fuzzy-haired manservant hurried along behind him. The formation of knights – fifty at a guess, and Gwaine had the impression, only half of those quartered in the citadel barracks, others having duties elsewhere – straightened to motionless attention. Arthur stalked along the side of the field that bordered the palace wall, giving the knights a cursory glance, and approaching the weathered weapons table, flanked by benches and a water barrel. Leon turned to make his way between the ranks to meet him.

"Thought you'd be in council, sire?" Leon inquired.

Arthur grunted, as his servant – Orryn, hadn't Merlin said his name was – unfastened his cloak and stepped back, folding it carefully and deferentially. When he spoke, it was clear enough to carry to most of the conscientiously-waiting knights, Gwaine thought.

"Merlin has handled many threats over the years, and not all of them of a magical nature. I'm certain he can handle the council for one afternoon."

His eyes seemed to be passing over the rows of his fighting men as he spoke – and raked over Lancelot and Gwaine exactly as if they hadn't been teasing and joking and drinking together in the ruins, not yet a fortnight ago.

"How are our newest knights doing?" Arthur added.

Gwaine caught a glimpse of young Carados in the front, stiffening with something like eager pride. When Gwaine wanted only to slouch and scoff.

"No problems to report," Leon said.

"Good. Pair off and spar," Arthur said, raising his voice to give further directions in some kind of code that had every other man there reacting, turning to immediate partners.

He hesitated only momentarily, before turning away from Lancelot to find a knight with straw-colored hair and beard-rasp advancing on him like a thundercloud. Grinning, he extended his hand. "I'm Gwaine."

The blond drew his sword, settling grimly into a preliminary stance. "I know."

Gwaine dropped his hand to the hilt of his own sword, dulled like the melee weapons had been, given him along with cloak and mail and extra clothing. He drew it, shrugging for the rejected pleasantries. "And you are –"

"One of your betters."

The knight attacked – but there was too much emotion, he was sloppy, slow and careless. Gwaine had no trouble blocking each blow easily.

"Hm," he said, as the other fell back a step, breathing hard and glaring. "Guess you'll have to work a little harder to prove that."

And of course his opponent tried. All around Gwaine heard the _clang!_ and _shing!_ and grunt of other pairings. He remained on the defensive, having no desire to humiliate the stranger, just teach him a lesson - not to judge a man til you've seen him fight. With him or beside him… It wasn't much of a challenge to prevent him from landing a blow; Gwaine even kept an eye on Lancelot, as they moved to circle or pass each other in their match.

"How long are we meant to do this?" he asked the other man pleasantly, noticing that over half of the other sparring partners had halted.

"Til one of us is the victor!" The knight's face was flushed unattractively under his sweat-spiked yellow hair and beard-stubble.

"Uh-huh." Gwaine considered – but only for a moment. And at the next rush, twisted slightly to allow the other's sword to slide down his blade, rather than meeting it squarely, and raised his heel; the knight went sprawling headlong on the grass. Lancelot and – Brenner, actually was his partner – both looked down from the handshake that evidently ended their match amicably.

"You cheated!" The furious blond knight rolled to his back to glare up at Gwaine. "You filthy commoner, you have no honor and no idea of what it takes to –"

"Sir Arrok."

Gwaine's exasperation eased away – along with his inclination to fire an insult back – at the sound of the king's voice. And the knowledge that they were in the center of attention, now. Arthur stepped out of Gwaine's peripheral vision, reaching a hand down for the fallen knight – who hesitated a moment, then accepted his king's aid in gaining his feet.

"Is there a problem?" Arthur continued mildly, addressing Gwaine's opponent.

"I'm certain he cheated, in our match just now," Arrok said sullenly. "I can't prove it, but he must have used magic against me, sire."

Uneasy murmur from the gathered fighters; Arthur didn't immediately respond, so Gwaine did.

"That wasn't magic, son," he drawled sarcastically – though Arrok was probably the same age as he was, give or take a year. Better than trying to drop a challenge the way he vaguely believed knights were wont to – he'd probably have to get those rules and customs clarified sooner or later. "That was skill. I don't need to cheat."

Arthur lifted his head suddenly to look around at the crowd of knights – looked between them back the way he'd come. "Orryn!" he shouted, raising his hand to beckon to his servant.

The fuzzy-haired man hesitated, but obeyed reluctantly, picking his way across the field, between the warriors, still carrying Arthur's red cloak in his arms. "Sire?"

"Orryn, you're going to help us with a training exercise." Arthur glanced about as if calculating distance or some other element of strategy. "Now –"

"Oh, but Your Majesty, I…" Orryn was aghast – but subsided quickly under Arthur's critical eye.

"Come on, Orryn – we used Merlin every day for years, didn't we?" The king sent a _nearly_ casual glance among his men, ostensibly for corroboration.

Gwaine inhaled, watching the knights recall whatever that training had consisted of, sending looks of uncertainty at each other. Now that they knew Merlin had been a sorcerer the entire time.

"This is what we're going to do." Arthur took his cloak from Orryn and unfurled it around the shorter man's shoulders, ignoring his noises of distressed protest. "This is our battlefield, and Orryn stands for the king. We'll have a few men chosen to defend him, and all the rest of you attack to capture him. Understand?"

"Who should be the defenders?" Leon asked.

The king gave his captain an unreserved grin – one that Gwaine _recognized_ , and therefore wasn't surprised at Arthur's next words. There were times when a brawl was just the thing for exorcising frustration.

"Why, you and I, of course," Arthur said. "Lancelot, and Gwaine."

Lancelot looked startled, but Gwaine let his satisfaction spread wide across his face, and said genuinely, "Thank you, Your Majesty. But are you sure it's fair to keep all the fun for ourselves?"

"Hm, you could be right." Arthur sent a challenging look all around his gathered men. "So who's going to stand beside these men to defend the king?"

Gwaine almost choked himself, suppressing his snort. _Not as subtle as you think you are, Arthur._

Two stepped forward, men whose names Gwaine didn't know yet. Shrugging and resigned – probably not much help, but he did appreciate the show of support. Then, a moment later, Carados pushed his way between two taller, older knights – looking up hopefully, and not disappointed at the looks of pride from both Leon and Arthur.

"Brilliant, mate," Gwaine told him, grabbing a handful of mail at his shoulder to give him a shake.

"All right," Arthur said, seeming satisfied. "The rest of you, back twenty paces – and five minutes if you need a strategy before you attack."

The rest did – once they'd decided their king was perfectly serious.

"Front assault," Arthur said to Leon, watching a core group of knights discuss and give orders to their fellows. Leon murmured agreement; Orryn swallowed hard. "Gwaine and Lancelot, here in the center to meet it. Leon, you and Carados take left flank, I'll stand to the right with Bors and Kay – let their charge wrap us around Orryn. Stay tight, but give each other space, and protect the man to either side of you. Here they come."

Gwaine almost laughed, bouncing on his toes to face the rush of knights. Of course Arthur had given him and Lancelot the most difficult position, where the attacking company would hit the hardest. Prove the damn point and quit the girly bickering. He gave the knight next him – Bors or Kay behind the helm, he didn't know – a nod of encouragement, then settled to the fight.

Not what he expected.

Because it wasn't like the every-man-for-himself skirmishing he was used to. The attackers fought together, with precision, defending each other – and it wasn't something he was used to either, more accustomed to being outnumbered and surrounded. He couldn't use his usual whirlwind style of swordplay, but Lancelot on his left was a solid wall that nothing got through, and on his right – Bors or Kay 'down', having taken a hit – Arthur himself. And maybe the knights held back in attacking their actual king – but more likely, Arthur really was, just that good.

It felt glorious.

Gwaine decided, he loved each and every one of these men, even the ones he knocked out of the fight. Even the narrow-minded bigots, because they were all part of something bigger and better than themselves. And most of all he loved Arthur for giving him this – something worth fighting for. A place among these men.

They didn't win. Outnumbered nearly ten to one, possibly they _could_ have won, had it been for stakes of real life and death, but...

Gwaine actually tripped over one of the bodies of the 'fallen', not quite twisting away from his last opponent's blade, feeling it rasp over the chainmail protecting his ribs. He allowed himself to collapse to the ground, dripping with sweat and gasping for breath – and probably grinning like a maniac.

After a second to catch his breath, he raised his head to see the others down also – Lancelot on his knees with someone's blade resting over his shoulder as a captive – Arthur still armed but only Orryn also on his feet, as the half-dozen knights remaining to act as the enemies withdrew.

"You are defeated, my lord!" one of them called laughingly.

"Never!" Arthur responded. He had his back to Gwaine, but the smile was audible in his voice. "I am fully prepared to die in defense of my kingdom and my people!"

"No, you mustn't," Orryn blurted, startling more than just Gwaine. All over the battlefield, the casualties stirred to listen; Arthur even turned to look at his servant in surprise. "Surrender, sire, you should not give your life for me."

Gwaine wondered briefly if the servant had forgotten that the battle was only staged for training. Arthur let his arm drop to his side, tipping up his chin to let out a shout of laughter, before stepping over two 'corpses' to reach Orryn's side – and startled many of them still further, slinging his arm over the servant's uncomfortable, red-cloaked shoulders.

"You see?" the king called out to the knights, pointing at them in a wide arc with his sword. Gwaine sat up, as did others. "That proves that commoners are capable of nobility also." He turned a smile, lopsided but proud, on the short fuzzy-haired man at his side. "And now I think it's dinnertime."

Gwaine watched the king pull his servant along with him through the crowd of recovering knights. Some still murmured of dissatisfaction to their fellows, glancing after Arthur, disdainfully toward Gwaine – and Lancelot behind him, probably. But two men he hadn't yet been introduced to, each offered him a hand up. He accepted both, and glimpsed someone else helping Lancelot brush off, before Leon stepped up to him.

"You did well," Arthur's second-in-command observed.

Gwaine huffed. "I've a lot yet to learn from you fellows," he admitted, knowing there were plenty around them who could hear and would listen. "I'm not used to having friends watch my back, and watching theirs for them."

"It's why we're the best," Leon told him, with no small amount of pride. "We'll teach you… tomorrow. For now – everyone is dismissed to dinner."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

With Leon's greeting inquiry, Arthur caught the sense of other issues his senior knight wanted to discuss – but not in the middle of training, with fifty knights an observing audience. So he lingered on his way back inside the citadel, waiting and expecting Leon to catch him up.

"If you will excuse me, sire," Orryn offered, "I will see that a bath is waiting for you in chambers, before dinner."

"Yes thank you, Orryn," Arthur said – and as the servant began to turn, added, "for everything."

Orryn paused – understood – acknowledged with a formal little bow. Arthur watched him go, both glad and a little sorry that Merlin's replacement was such a good servant, and a good man, too.

"My lord?"

Arthur turned at the top of the stair as Leon hurried up to join him, the rest of the knights dispersing in knots and groups. He watched a moment to pick out his newest knights, and was satisfied with what he saw. Inclusion, if limited.

"That went well, I thought," he remarked as Leon reached him.

"I agree – but perhaps not effective a second time?"

Arthur grunted. "Yes, you're probably right – but you said you have other ideas?"

Leon almost smiled. "Patrols?" Arthur straightened and faced him more fully. "Mixed patrols, carefully but not obviously selected. I think it will do all the men good to get to know each other away from the citadel, formal manners and situations, and out where that means little, and a man's character is more readily apparent to his companions."

"That's… either a very good idea, or a very bad one," Arthur told him. "What about Gwaine?"

Leon shrugged. "He didn't kill Arrok."

"He didn't, did he." Arthur considered. As ready as Gwaine always seemed to be to fight or drink or woo – he also seemed to possess the self-control of a good knight. Maybe Arthur didn't have to worry about the man losing his temper after three days and nights of nonstop rain and someone like Arrok trying to provoke him into a fistfight that might escalate to knives.

"I wondered what you thought about including Merlin in the patrols – not as often as the knights," Leon hastened to add, at Arthur's swift sharp look. "Once in a while. The shorter routes, maybe, twice a week or so."

"With _very_ carefully selected patrols," Arthur said. "My concern would be for men like Arrok, who've been raised and trained to believe magic the worst enemy of all. Trust will be slow to build, there, especially for the knights who've personally fought or lost someone to magic."

"Still, it might be good to get that mistrust out in the open to address," Leon said. "I understand Merlin has secretly protected many of us at different times over the years. If the men could see that happen, maybe see magic used for ordinary or harmless things – Merlin mentioned campfires?"

"That's maybe getting ahead of ourselves a bit," Arthur said, a bit surprised that Leon would suggest that. He wondered what Merlin might have said or done… "Til the law's actually changed… We'll see what Merlin says. I don't want him put in a situation where he has to defend himself against one of our knights who's decided he's a threat."

Leon hummed in agreement. "One other thing, sire. Geldred."

"I'm sorry, who?"

"One of the other performers. We'd put them all in the cells after – after your father was attacked. This morning when we started questioning them, we found that one had poisoned himself – he was dead when we opened the cell. Geldred, according to others in the company, partner to the gleeman who poisoned you before the attempt."

Arthur breathed evenly for a moment. Well, it wasn't exactly justice, but at least he wouldn't have to order a man's execution as one of his first acts as king. "Was there anything else the others were able to tell you?"

"Those two men approached the company in Whenham, evidently they'd been celebrating the opportunity to perform in Camelot. They offered their act with the throwing knives – promised to make the show unforgettable for the Pendragons." Leon's irony was sympathetic, somehow, and both emotions helped Arthur to control his own.

"Whenham," he said. "That is on Odin's border."

"Indeed."

Arthur met his captain's eyes for a long moment. Not a coincidence he could ignore, but addressing it was problematic also. He was really not inclined to go to war to avenge his father's death, but if Odin was responsible – even if it had been his own life the other king sought to claim…

"We need more information," he decided. "More proof. Send a patrol to Whenham – no, not a patrol…"

"Two or three men," Leon suggested. Arthur had the feeling his senior knight had already thought this through. "Out of armor and unobtrusive."

"That's better. Then it doesn't get back to Odin that we suspect, before we decide what to do," Arthur agreed. "Who will – you send?" It was going to take some getting used to, leaving decisions like this to Leon, even though his trusted the knight's judgment implicitly.

"I thought, Gwaine for one." Leon watched him closely for his reaction – which was mostly surprise. "You know his skill with a blade probably exceeds any man here, save yourself, sire. He doesn't need this sort of training – neither does Lancelot, but Lancelot is proud to participate. What Gwaine needs is the practice being part of a company, to trust and be trusted."

"So you'd send him on a mission like this?" Arthur said with amused disbelief.

"Well, he's also the most likely by far to blend into a border town, and get answers without raising suspicions," Leon said. "You show that you trust him, and when he returns with something to show for the trip, that proves your judgment also, to the rest of the men. I want to send… Bors, maybe Brenner with him."

He'd have no worries about asking Gwaine the outlaw to take the trip, pose questions and poke around. But something about Gwaine's rank and status being official, made it also seem more likely that he'd be caught. That was irrational, probably – and Leon could see at least part of Arthur's hesitation. Perhaps he felt his own reputation was at stake also, taking up Arthur's duties and making these decisions and recommendations.

"Sire. Gwaine's good enough to be one of your seniors one day, perhaps soon, one of your captains. Give him some responsibility, I think he'll prove himself responsible."

Arthur sighed. "If it seems good to you, then yes. And you believe the conspiracy consisted only of this Geldred, and the gleeman my father killed?" Leon nodded. "Then release the rest of the players, on the understanding that they keep their distance from Odin's border this season. Give them the pay promised, also."

"Yes, my lord."

"And let the duty officer know that open court will be held every other morning, starting the day after tomorrow. Otherwise he'll have to contact Orryn for any private audiences requested."

Leon gave him a smile of approval – unintentional, because he quickly pulled his expression neutral, straightening his carriage into something more formal. "I'm happy to do so, sire."

"Thank you, Leon," Arthur said, knowing he'd understand, as Orryn had. "I'll see you tomorrow."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin privately thought the council session somewhere between, trial by Uther and torture by Aerldan.

It took the twenty men a full hour to decide, _born with_ was irrelevant, they could accept _from a young age_. Then they argued, how young was too young for a child to know what they were doing or understand the consequences. _Beyond Camelot's borders_ seemed to make no difference – which exasperated Merlin, til he realized.

They didn't need convincing whether or not magic was intrinsically evil, an irresistibly corruptive influence on a person's character. What they were arguing was, how to present it to the populace at large - because they'd supported Uther's views for over twenty years, they expected having to explain supporting Arthur's opposing views, without looking weak.

The second hour, they stuck at why Merlin had come to Camelot. _For a job_ wasn't good enough. _To learn to control instinctive magic_ had the council politely requesting that Gaius speak only when directed to answer a question.

Merlin felt badly about that. What Gaius had done had been for him – but his peers were probably too familiar with his dissembling to have much patience with the possibility now. No one said anything about leveling charges against the physician – Merlin's royally-granted freedom seemed to extend to his mentor – but it was apparent that everyone figured Gaius had at least known he was harboring a sorcerer under Uther's nose for years. Successfully.

He wondered if it wouldn't be better just to let Gaius excuse himself also – surely he had more important work to do anyway.

His stomach was beginning to forget lunch, and remind him of the scraps on the side-table trays – for the council, of course, not the… what was he, accused or witness? – when the interrogation over his motivation in coming to and remaining in Camelot took an insidious turn.

 _Why did you stay_ led to – _use my magic to protect Arthur_ –

 _Why_.

"Because he's going to be a –"

"Great king, yes, you've said," Lord Bernard interrupted. Merlin couldn't put his finger on what the lean, intense man actually thought; _formidable_ was his impression of the nobleman. "A king who gives a sorcerer his freedom in spite of the laws."

"He has every right to do that," Lord Emund reminded him, rocking back on his heels and crossing his arms over his chest to unintentionally emphasize his paunch.

"Of course he did, and I applaud the move," Lord Bernard said, in a placating way – but gained all the room's focus. Merlin blinked, and even Gaius looked surprised for a moment.

"You support King Arthur's decision to exempt this young man from the penalties the law requires?" Lord Urbert demanded.

"Of course. It was very clever of him."

 _Clever?_ Merlin thought.

"The sorcerer clearly owes Arthur his life, now. He's claimed a nearly-irrational level of loyalty – risked his life to protect Arthur, and by extension, Arthur's kingdom and all of us – and seems to have no scruples about breaking the law. With such a man in his pocket, Arthur can do… anything."

That was worse than the implication that Arthur acted under Merlin's influence. He was moving before he realized, stepping right up to Lord Bernard – who'd been speaking to his fellows and not looking at Merlin, but didn't so much as flinch to turn and find him close.

"You're wrong," Merlin said – to Bernard, but his voice was clear throughout the room, and that was fine with him. "You're wrong about Arthur. I don't know what _you_ want, but Arthur. Only wants what's best for his people, for _all_ of his people. Perhaps he started seeking the truth because of what happened to me, but if magic isn't evil – and it's _not_ – then the laws are unjust. And Arthur won't simply allow injustice to continue because it's easiest."

Lord Bernard smiled. "He listens to you, does he."

"My lords, the hour grows late," Geoffrey said, pushing himself up from his chair. Drawing attention, but Bernard didn't look at the court recorder, and Merlin didn't look away from him. "Perhaps we should adjourn?"

It took them another quarter of an hour to decide to reconvene on the morrow at the same time. And even then, only a handful immediately left the room, leaving most in argument or discussion with a neighbor.

Merlin ducked behind Agravaine to avoid catching Gaius' eye – and then behind another portly local councilman to avoid Agravaine's disgust. Outside the room, he headed blindly down one corridor – then a second – then a third – heading for the quietest, most deserted space.

And found himself in the hall outside Arthur's door, with a sob – or a laugh – choking him.

 _They won't listen to Bernard_ , he told himself, lingering beside the familiar door. Reaching to pick at a sliver of wood with his fingernail. And it wouldn't matter if they did. Arthur was king, and they'd see soon enough. Merlin wasn't manipulating him, nor was Arthur using him to act outside the law to accomplish anything underhanded.

Maybe it was Arthur's destiny to return magic to Camelot. And maybe it was Uther's fault that it was so hated and feared, therefore complicated and difficult for Arthur to reverse, but… it felt personal, to Merlin. Like he was hindering Arthur, rather than helping. Just like he had with Gaius, that morning.

He was tired, and his arm ached again. He resolved to retreat to his room behind the physician's chamber at least til the morning, and bury his troubles temporarily in the oblivion of slumber. Perhaps he could mix a little something to make sure that sleep was dreamless and deep…

As Merlin rounded the corner, he was startled by a voice calling his name – Arthur, taking the stair two at a time, even in chainmail, his ceremonial cloak tucked negligently over one elbow. Merlin stopped as Arthur reached him, sweaty but smiling.

"The council set you free also, then?"

"Only just," Merlin said. "A reprieve til tomorrow, though."

Arthur rolled his eyes and huffed an exasperated sigh, striding toward the door of his chamber; Merlin drifted in his wake, mostly through force of habit. "Well, Orryn's gone to organize a bath and dinner, but I thought I could let him off for the night if you wanted to attend me?"

A niggling little feeling declared itself, _resentment_ , and he stopped. That was something he hadn't felt where Arthur was concerned for a very long time. Since the spoiled crown prince used to order and presume without regard for anyone else, especially his manservant. Merlin didn't often feel _selfish_ – but he was only human. _Arthur gets respect and a bath, Arthur gets to strut around without worrying about being set on fire._

He argued back with himself, _Arthur's struggling with the council, too, trying to set this right –_

 _By leaving me to them? And what's the consequence to_ Arthur _if he can't, or if it takes forever?_

"More talking?" he said only, trying to be fair with his friend.

Arthur's lips quirked. "Geoffrey's going to give me a written report on the gist of the meeting, but I want to hear what you thought."

And stay late in the king's chamber, private and exclusive – that wouldn't help discount Bernard's insinuations at all. And then he'd go back to his room through dark corridors, jumpy and wondering if he'd be ambushed again – or he'd have to _sneak_ , like he'd done when Princess Elena was visiting…

He was shaking his head before he realized it. "Please don't make me, Arthur," he said. "It's best if I leave –"

Something like worry or concern sparked in Arthur's eyes, like he thought Merlin had changed his mind about _staying_ – but he also reached at the same time to take hold of Merlin's arm. The right arm, just at the elbow –

Merlin instinctively flinched away, avoiding Arthur's touch, twisting and sliding out from under the outstretched hand. Startling Arthur with the reaction – and even himself – but _hurting_ Arthur. In an inexplicable and maybe nonsensical – _don't touch me_ \- but very real way.

"I mean, if I head back to Gaius," he amended awkwardly, instead of explaining or excusing his reflexive evasion.

"We don't have to talk about the council, or the meeting," Arthur said, his smile gone. "There are other things I want discuss with you – the knights –"

Merlin's feet were still carrying him away, as if he was afraid Arthur would pursue him and grab his arm, right where it was injured though he didn't know, cause him pain and _discover_. "Not now, just… not now. We can talk… later, sometime?"

Arthur dropped his hand and _closed_.

"Of course. Another time." Turning away to his door in the cool dismissal that Merlin recognized for a defense against rejection. "Goodnight, Merlin."

It wasn't just Arthur who would have to change.

Merlin rounded the corner and pressed his back to the stone wall, hearing the chamber door close decisively between him and his king. It wasn't just Merlin who would have to change, coming back to Camelot openly as a magic-user. It was also, every single one of his relationships, it seemed.

Merlin – who had been lost and alone, before – suddenly felt it, acutely.

 **A/N: A bit shorter this one, but there's a small time gap before the next chapter…**


	6. The Lower Town

**Chapter 6: The Lower Town**

"Perhaps a walk, my lord?"

Arthur heard Orryn's voice without really absorbing the suggestion; his neck creaked as he looked up from the papers he'd been studying on his desk. "What?"

Orryn was standing on a three-legged stool, meticulously cleaning each small pane of glass in Arthur's bedchamber window, the one that overlooked the side courtyard. "I always find that a nice brisk walk through the market clears my head and refreshes the rest of me," he said. "Even if it's just… errands, quite often I feel ready to face the… least enjoyable tasks, afterwards."

"You think I need to take a walk?" Arthur said, still faintly incredulous. Merlin had never hesitated to make far more personal comments about what he thought Arthur needed, but it was still unusual for Orryn to comment on his master's state of mind, or make suggestions.

"I think it would do you good, sire."

But there was the threat of Odin to consider, and the preparations for his own council meeting – delayed because it had now been three sequential days and he couldn't now remember how many hours, they'd kept Merlin returning for more questions. And since yesterday morning, the petty repetitions of the townspeople's requests, reiterated for a new king in the hopes that Arthur would render a decision different than his father's. And the constant worry over whether he _should_ or not…

"Maybe so, but I really can't," he said ruefully. "I've got to finish researching the issues raised in open court yesterday. It's important that the people feel like they can approach me with their questions, no matter who they are, or what the petitions concern."

Orryn re-folded his polishing cloth carefully in a way Arthur had come to recognize – it was not unlike Guinevere, getting ready to say something she wasn't sure it was her place to say. "Yes, my lord, it is very important that the people believe you care for them and the problems they face, it is good when they are not afraid to address you."

"However…" Arthur prompted.

"Yesterday's petitions represent those among your people who are discontented, who have a quarrel they want judged in their favor. There are far more, you know, who are satisfied with their lot, and live peacefully with their neighbors and customers. But I think…" the fuzzy-haired man hesitated, twisting his neatly folded cloth; Arthur waited him out. "It is good for them to see you and speak to you also – and it is good for you to see more than just the… problems."

Arthur drummed his fingers on the table, contemplating the fresh air and exercise – and couldn't deny the wistful longing for a stroll through the lower town. As prince he had done so frequently, but he'd never seen his father as king do the same; he wasn't certain it was appropriate. Would he need more attendants than his constant pair of guards? What was the protocol, or was there any?

"There are a couple of situations I might check on personally," he admitted. And if a king couldn't do what he _wanted_ to do – occasionally – what was the benefit in being king?

Orryn gave him a funny little bow from the top of the stool, and turned back to cleaning the window – and maybe with more enthusiasm, himself. Arthur wondered if his presence or mood in turn affected his manservant's frame of mind; Orryn had always seemed so stolid in comparison to Merlin.

He buckled his sword belt around his waist and snatched his long jacket, shoving his arms through before opening the door. The guards stood to attention and followed, around the corner and down the stairs. He was still uncomfortably conscious of their presence, their tacit knowledge of everything he said and did, but he thought he was moving past the worry that he'd embarrass himself somehow, and on to using that awareness to remind himself to a king's conduct.

Emerging at the top of the main stair to the front courtyard, he paused a moment to fill his lungs and feel the sun caress his face, the breeze to lift and cool his hair. The routine bustle of deliveries unloaded, checked and aided by guards or knights, servants about their various chores, actually relaxed him with the reminder that his people knew their business, it wasn't _all_ up to him, to manage and direct his kingdom.

Then he caught sight of a particular person, and his attention focused involuntarily. Guinevere wore the lavender dress he loved; her hair was down on her shoulders, only partially tied back with a ribbon, and a wide shallow basket swung at her elbow. It made him think of the day he'd met her in the woods and she'd told him she wanted to wait for him. He couldn't help the immediate intention that formed in his mind and heart – the suspicion that occurred to him in remembering another suggestion of Orryn's, _perhaps a ride this morning, my lord?_ \- and smiled to himself, beginning to descend the stairs.

Til the knight she was speaking with shifted his weight, and Arthur recognized Lancelot.

 _I feel the same_ , Guinevere had said to him. But also, _No one has asked me, no one has given me a choice._

Did she have a _choice_ , now? Arthur was well aware that Lancelot had feelings for Gwen, it had been hard to put that touch of jealousy behind him, when his newest knight had returned to Camelot to help them fight Morgause's invasion, last year. Now he suspected he might have the same battle to fight again, now that Lancelot was to be a daily presence in Camelot.

That didn't change anything for him. He'd told her, she had his heart – and now there was no one to tell him no… except her? He hoped he loved her enough to let her go if her happiness lay elsewhere, but… _no one has asked me_.

The two he watched began to draw apart, Lancelot turning away from Arthur at the stair – but Guinevere looked right up at him. He caught his breath at the immediate and unreserved smile.

Realizing, she didn't mind him seeing her speaking to Lancelot whatsoever – because there was no emotion there for her to feel guilty or self-conscious about. Arthur felt his lips pull to answer her smile, hoping that his last doubt had just been laid to rest. He jogged down the rest of the stairs to the cobblestones as she gathered her skirt in one hand to meet him.

"My lady," he said softly, and watched color bloom more richly in her cheeks. "Might I escort you about the town? You have errands?" Belatedly he glanced in the basket to guess whether she was leaving or returning – it was empty.

"You're sure? you're not – busy?"

Arthur turned to his guards. "Keep twenty paces back, if you please."

They murmured echoing acknowledgement. "Sire." Though he knew, they would disobey in a heartbeat if it seemed that his safety was in jeopardy. That was fine with him; he didn't expect it would be. He offered his elbow to Gwen, who took it happily, and they crossed the courtyard together.

"This is a very unexpected pleasure," she told him, with a hint of playfulness. "I've missed you."

"You've missed me?" he repeated.

"Well, everyone's been so busy, since… this week. Gwaine's gone to the border on that mission for you, and Lancelot is always with the other knights, and Percival and Elyan I think are a little disappointed to lose the chance to visit the ruins like they used to – and you seem absolutely buried by your kingly duties… I worry about you."

"You do," he said, not surprised but enjoying the warmth that spread through his chest at her words. And that she accepted his invitation to appear together publicly, even if it was a casual accompaniment of each other on errands.

"It takes a while to… grieve," she said, keeping her eyes on the shadow of the wall as they passed under it, under the raised spikes of the iron portcullis. He remembered, it had only been a year and a half since her father had been killed – and that his had been more or less responsible for that. "You need to give yourself time for that. Time to adjust to, being king. You don't have to be perfect right away, you know."

"It'll get better," he said, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt. "It'll get easier. There's a lot to do just now – there always is when the crown changes heads."

She nodded, and he squinted in the sun as they came out onto the road that distanced the lower town from the citadel walls, if only by a couple dozen paces.

"I didn't realize it was so close to noon," he said. "What shall we do about something to eat?" Because he was not really inclined to return to the palace, walls and servants and responsibilities, giving up his few hours of freedom so soon. He had the idea, if he went back now, he might not come out again for several more days.

"What the rest of your people do," she suggested archly. "Penny meat-pies eaten with your hands as you walk along."

"Yes, but Orryn will probably –" He let himself trail off, considering. Had his servant seen Guinevere in the courtyard, and planned for him to meet this one of his subjects in particular? He snorted. "Orryn will probably _not_ worry about having to fetch me a meal this noon. I wonder if having Merlin about is starting to affect him…"

She didn't say anything, just looked ahead of them to the first of the carts lining the streets, but he caught her expression. The people of the lower town reacted to his appearance with surprise, then a shy delight; it wasn't hard to catch eyes and nod acknowledgement to brief bows and bobbed curtsies, and still focus on his companion and their conversation. But he didn't think the awareness of their audience was what was bothering her.

"What's the matter?"

She slowed as they passed a cart offering fabrics, turning to study each one though she didn't touch or stop. "I miss him, too," she sighed finally.

He understood, though he was disappointed to hear. Of course he hadn't expected Merlin to return as his servant, necessarily underfoot more often than either of them really enjoyed, but he had thought they'd see more of each other than they had – that Merlin would see more of his other friends, too. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or more worried that Guinevere's complaint meant, Merlin wasn't just avoiding _him_.

"The council hasn't been keeping him all day," he protested lightly. "And you both work with Gaius…"

"He's not there often," she told him with a quick glance of dark eyes. "And when he is – he's not _there_. Gaius is concerned, but Merlin won't talk to him either – he just denies there's anything much on his mind and smiles, or he jokes about the council being long-winded or forgetful…"

"Well, they can't reconvene forever," he said logically. "They all have other business to attend to –"

"But you can't deny you're surprised it's been this long, this many days," she said.

He lifted his arm to guide her away from him as they skirted a puddle of mud in the middle of the street, then tugged her gently back. "People don't change their minds overnight. It took me about five weeks, and I probably knew Merlin better than anyone except Gaius. It's been three days, now – that's less time than some of our quests, or other crises that have arisen over the years."

"You're telling me, be patient?" she teased, but was serious again the next moment. "I think… now that we _know_ , it's harder for him to hide how it feels, or what this sort of pressure does to him. With everything he's been through, I hate to see him… struggling."

He knew she didn't mean it that way, but her words made him feel responsible, somehow. That he should protect Merlin better, and he wasn't. "I do too, Guinevere, but it doesn't help when he's determined to be self-sufficient. I gave him that blue velvet jacket for a _reason_ , you know that, but he hasn't even worn it since the banquet."

"Well, that…" she gave him a quick, nearly unreadable glance – and looked away as if she was afraid to give too much away, looking right at him. "It's not because he doesn't _want_ to wear it, Arthur."

"You know why he hasn't, then?" Arthur said, surprised. "As good a reason as I had for intending him to wear it?"

"It was… damaged. A bit." A comment about his former manservant's criminal clumsiness was on the tip of his tongue, when she met his eyes sidelong, again. "Someone – set fire to it."

"What?" He stopped cold in the middle of the street, disconcerted by the calls and voices of the market around them, that he'd been successfully ignoring thus far. She wore a reluctant look, but nodded. "Why didn't he tell me? Guinevere, that's not – spite, or prejudice, that's… a very real _threat_." And not just about Merlin's status, that included a destructive commentary on _Arthur's_ decision. "Who did it?"

"He said he didn't know. He didn't want to tell you because he didn't know."

She twisted to look around them, and evidently decided they were too much in the way. Steering him gently, she brought them to a doorway; he slouched and clutched her close enough to lean against him, though he didn't put his arms the whole way around her.

"What am I going to do?" he said dismally. "What am I going to do?"

"As his friend?" She fiddled with one of the unfastened toggles on his jacket. "Or as his king?"

And there was that problem, again. That distance between him and everybody else. "Well, both of us are on his side," he muttered rebelliously.

"Lucky Merlin," she said, tipping her head back in a way that made him aware of her lips and the line of her throat, down to her collarbones above the neckline of her bodice.

And maybe he couldn't order people to treat Merlin the way he thought the young sorcerer ought to be treated; maybe he couldn't coax Merlin to confide… but Guinevere was a different story. The second of the two he thought likeliest to be able to cross that gap between king and everyone else. He was tired of waiting and feeling ineffectual.

"You know," he said deliberately, setting aside the topic of their friend for future discussion. Reminding himself of the public place. "When I meet with the council, they're going to ask me certain questions."

"About? Merlin?" She seemed perfectly content to linger, warm and soft.

"As well as… my plans for the future. Marriage, and…" _An heir_ , he didn't say. Because suddenly it was a bit intimidating, to pull hopes from his unspoken thoughts, and make them fact in forming the words.

Her eyes were deep enough to drown in, looking up at him – then she turned and stepped down to the street again. At the pace of an amble, but once again looking over the offered merchandise, rather than at him. "And what will you tell them?"

He frowned, falling into step with her again. Was she afraid he'd make a choice from among the daughters of Camelot's allies? Like Elena, beautiful and strategic? Didn't she know by now, "That I will only marry someone I love. And that the girl I love is –"

She whirled on him, her expression stopping the words in his throat. He had one moment to worry, _she's changed her mind_ , when she said, a bit breathlessly, "Marry? You would… you want…"

"Yes." He closed his eyes briefly, wishing they had the privacy of solitude, somewhere he could hold her close and tight and kiss her and _kiss_ her so she would feel the longing he felt. "Guinevere… _yes_."

"Oh, _Arthur_."

He looked down at her, dark eyes humid with emotion, and very nearly kissed her anyway. Then she twitched her shoulders square, and set her jaw in a way he recognized – and didn't often _like_ , as much as he loved it.

"Don't tell them. About me, about us – don't tell them."

"I – don't understand." And it hurt, a bit, to hear her say – it caused a pain to flare up that reminded him of how Merlin had backed away from him. It reminded him of the distance between king and subjects – a distance he didn't want between _king_ and _friend_ , and _king_ and… queen. Was that it? "If you're worried about becoming queen – don't be." She started shaking her head, which reassured him enough to add humorously, "You'll be a better queen than I am a king, anyway."

"Don't say that." Quick reproachful look. "And it's not – entirely – the thought of… trying to help you… _rule_. It's just – your father's death was so recent, Arthur, and you've put a lot of expectations on yourself, so new to the crown – and the biggest of those is this issue of magic. You and Merlin both need friends to help you get through this, and I don't think I can do that if everyone is watching me and whispering about a formal engagement between the king and a maidservant. It might… well, don't be angry, but people might say that…" She hesitated, looking down to toy with the handle of the basket.

"Say what?" he said.

"Well, that maybe Merlin enchanted you to – have feelings for me. As a favor for a friend, or – that he gave me a potion to use, or… something."

That annoyed him. Very much. "That's ridiculous," he said tightly, even though she was probably right.

"I know, but –" her hand on his arm calmed him, somewhat.

"They can't stop me asking you, any of them," he warned her. "Right here in the middle of the street, if I –"

Her hand flew from his arm to his mouth. "And they can't stop me from giving my answer, with all my heart," she nearly hissed, exasperated with him. "But I think it would be wise to keep it between you and me for – a while, yet."

He smiled against her hand and mumbled; she released him to suggest, "A fortnight?"

Her eyes sparkled but she refused to let her full lips show the smile. "A year."

"Three weeks."

"Three seasons," she countered. Coming down faster than he was, but that was still too far into the future, in his opinion.

"Three months?" he said, hoping she would not specify, til the announcement of a public betrothal, and more waiting for the actual wedding. He didn't want to wait a day longer than the two weeks requisite for anyone to lodge a legal protest – which they wouldn't of course, because by then –

"Six months." And her fist was on her hip.

He sighed. "Very well." Depending, perhaps, on how things went with Merlin and adjusting the laws on magic – he could always ask her again before that time was up. "I suppose I should speak to Elyan, though…"

"Six months," she repeated insistently. "We have a lifetime, Arthur, let's not rush it and make mistakes."

Well, he didn't agree that haste was a mistake, not in this. But, "I want to talk to Elyan, anyway. See if he's interested in coming around the training field a couple of times a week. He and Percival."

She studied his face – then gasped. "Arthur…"

"I have the idea," he remarked, "that certain of the knights who served under my father will not feel comfortable with the changes I intend to make, and if I'm going to allow them some form of honorable early release from their oaths, I'm also going to need a plan to replace them in our ranks, and it's not quite fair to ask Lancelot and Gwaine to carry the burden of being the only common-born knights alone. Is it?"

She covered her own mouth this time, shaking her head at him, though her eyes shone. "He was so excited for Lancelot and Gwaine, so proud of them, though he never once thought – and Percival will be perfect, he has such a noble heart also, and – oh, do you suppose you have armor that will fit him?"

"If we don't," he allowed the full smile, "I know a very good blacksmith."

She beamed and gave him arm a fond little slap, turning to continue with their errands. And nearly ran into a thin, pale woman whose hair was obscured by a dingy white headscarf, though it seemed to emphasize the slight bulge of her eyes.

"I beg yer pardon, Yer Majesty," the woman said breathlessly, curtsying twice, even as she held out an object that appeared to be a leather medallion on a chain of – braided hair? "Don't mean to interrupt – 'scuse me for interrupting, but I…"

"No, it's all right," he said to her. "If I didn't want to be interrupted, I would not be walking through the market." She straightened, giving him a confused look, and he added kindly, "You wished to speak to me about something?"

"Oh! No, not particular – um, yes rather – it's just…" She shook her head violently, endangering her scarf in her tongue-tied embarrassment. "Wanted to give you this, m'lord."

She thrust the leather ornament at him; he took it from politeness. The disc was nearly two inches across and flat, hardened leather stitched around the edges, leaving knotted fringe. There was a symbol burned into each side, front and back, not very decorative, but he didn't know the significance of it, otherwise.

"Thank you," he said anyway, leadingly, "What is it for?"

"It's a charm, Yer Highness. Protects you from –" she swayed closer to whisper, in the noise of the street – "enchantments."

"Enchantments?" He felt his eyebrows stretch toward his hairline; Guinevere seemed speechless, also.

"Your servant. Him who was magic? And he's back?" She tapped the leather disc in his hand. "That'll keep him from twisting yer thoughts any which way you don't want 'em twisted."

"That –" _Doesn't make sense_ , he wanted to point out. To use magic to protect against the use of magic? He wanted to laugh – or cry – at this poor woman's ignorant courage, in offering him such a charm. "That's very thoughtful," he went on awkwardly, and she smiled at Gwen in a satisfaction Gwen tried to match, without agreeing. "But don't you think – if he was enchanting me, then this wouldn't work? I wouldn't even accept this?"

"It…" She stared down at the piece for a moment, disconcerted. "It's meant to protect you from the evil of magic."

He had the feeling they were starting to gather an audience, the king speaking with one of the commoners – different than him strolling through speaking to Guinevere, somehow. But to look around would acknowledge that, and shift the meaning of the exchange.

"My father was a good king, but he didn't understand magic," Arthur told the woman gently. "It's not evil. It just is, and good or bad depends on the use, on the person using it. Like –" he remembered Gaius' comparisons, made for his sake when he was first trying to learn more – "like wealth, or skill, or power – they can corrupt as well, but only if a person makes selfish choices and allows themselves to be corrupted. Do you see?"

She touched the charm on his open palm again, thoughtfully. "And Yer Highness is king. And a rich man… and a right skilled warrior."

"Yes, I suppose –"

"So don't having magic near you too, make it more likely one of those things is gonna corrupt you in the end?" Those bulging eyes so very earnest. And really it was brave of her to approach him so, and say what she thought.

"Never," he declared. "How can it, when I have such loyal people watching out to protect me?"

"Then you'll keep that," she concluded with satisfaction.

He glanced at Guinevere and saw the same helpless, amused pity that he felt, in her eyes. "If it eases your mind – yes, I'll keep it," he said. He'd show it to Merlin and see if there was any magic in it at all. And hope he didn't just start a brisk trade for some mountebank to sell such things to gullible folks who'd keep believing they needed protection from magic and the people that used it.

"For it to be most effective, m'lord, you're going to want to –" The woman's directions were interrupted when a young boy running down the street bumped her, spinning her to face the way he was headed, bewildered.

Arthur raised his head to see that while he'd been ignoring the crowd to talk to this woman, some disturbance had started to draw attention – at the end of the street maybe, past the last house in an open square, if he remembered the layout of the lower town correctly. Gwen watched also with a puzzled frown – another man hurrying past knocked her basket with a quick excuse and didn't stop.

Some instinct sparked in Arthur. Trouble. And he had the foremost responsibility to stop it. Finding Guinevere's free hand, he gripped it firmly.

"Come on, let's see what the commotion is about."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…

Today was the day, Merlin had decided.

Things had been quieter in the citadel, if not necessarily _better_ , yesterday than the first day. It stood to reason, today would be an improvement also.

Folk still watched him, servants guards and nobles, but there was curiosity mixed with the disgust and wariness, as if they'd expected to see _magic_ , from the first moment, every moment – and instead, saw only the same Merlin they'd always seen. He'd tripped on the stair that morning and a passing maid had _giggled_.

Of course, she'd caught herself right away, turning a horrified pale, slightly reassured by his grin and shrug.

Time to venture to the lower town.

Merlin hoped that maybe, after a few days, people had heard from the servants of the citadel, enough of the true rumors, that he could walk the market without provoking a riot. The unpleasantness, he'd tried to prepare himself for – the gasping, the staring, the retreating – the superstitious gestures warding off his evil. The dead silence enclosing him like a bubble as he walked, and the whispers following behind.

 _I'm not doing anything. Just walking, like I've done a hundred times with Arthur._

It might have been easier to walk with someone – Gwen, or Elyan or Percival, he knew would agree immediately. But Gwen had errands for Gaius that shouldn't be interrupted or delayed by the complication of his presence, and surely Elyan and Percival had work to do.

Maybe he could end up at the forge, he thought, trying to hold his smile. _Hot and noisy and – won't always be like this._

Maybe he could find a seat and blend slowly into the scenery, let people continue with their lives and business around him as he simply sat and proved himself harmless… He passed an empty cart resting on its shafts – and kept walking, not wanting a well-meaning neighbor to inform the owner, who might take exception to a sorcerer resting on his cart without permission. But there – a stone wall, part of a house long collapsed, the interior of which was commonly used for dumping refuse.

Merlin made his way to the crumbling wall, still feeling a bit like he had in the kitchen, surrounded by watching servants – if he moved too fast or looked at anyone directly for too long, they'd panic and scatter – and later, maybe, there would be shame and anger, blamed on him. Sighing, he lowered himself to the less-than-comfortable perch.

The sun was warm and after a moment, life continued tentatively, warily around him. He lifted his head to watch into the far distance – aware of the glances, but not trying to meet them. Nobody had run, nobody had screamed... Except – he could hear sounds of scuffling.

A grunt, a gasp – a whine of pain that sounded almost… young.

Merlin straightened and looked around him, listening to pick the sounds out from the bustle of the nearby market. Past the opposite wall of the roofless abandoned house? He stood and moved around the wall to see two young boys wrestling on the ground.

A second more and he realized the juvenile desperation of the fight and grim determination to do damage to an opponent – torn clothing, blood-smear, white knuckles. And he recognized the tight curly hair of the one on top.

"Hey!" he said, moving quickly forward and reaching to grab Tobe bodily off the other boy. "Hey, what's going on? Stop this!"

The boy writhed in his grip, strong for being skinny and nine and a half, clawing for the other boy – his ragged blonde-brown hair shaggy in a face smeared with dirt and a little blood.

"Lemme go!" Tobe panted. "He's got to take back what he said!"

The boy on bottom squirmed and struck out, slow to realize Merlin's intervention; Tobe himself tried to kick him and got Merlin's shins instead with his heels. Merlin backed them both out of range of the prone boy, gathering Tobe's arms against his body and ignoring the pull of damaged-healing skin under the bandage on his right arm.

"Calm down," Merlin told him. "Calm down – what's this about?"

Tobe twisted to blink at Merlin in surprise, and stopped struggling. "Merlin! How did you know – was it magic?"

The boy on the ground scrambled up to a tense crouch, braced against the wall behind him. He looked fine, if scared and mad; Merlin turned his attention back to Tobe, letting him go to set him on his feet.

"Now – what happened?"

"He said magic was evil, and that makes _you_ evil and I said it _didn't_ because you _weren't_ and he should take it back but he _wouldn't_ so I said I'd _make_ him!"

"It is evil!" the boy blurted, glaring at Merlin. "And you are! My da says so, says you shoulda burned!"

"You liar!" Merlin snatched at Tobe before he could launch himself at the other boy again. "You're stupid – and your da is stupid!"

"Tobe, stop! Listen to me." Merlin dropped to one knee beside his young friend, still holding the boy's thin arms, and Tobe quieted. "You can tell someone they're wrong, you can tell someone the truth – but you can't make them believe it, or understand. That's up to them, okay?"

The boy scowled at him, and kicked the ground – but shrugged. "All right."

Merlin turned to the other boy, bouncing up from his crouch but remaining bent over so he could offer a hand up.

"Don't touch me!" the boy said, using the wall to push himself up. "Filthy sorcerer!"

Tobe lunged again – Merlin caught him, but no one caught the other boy, who would evidently rather fight it out with Tobe than worry about Merlin. And if he was preventing Orryn's son from defending himself, it only made sense for Merlin to catch the other boy by the back of his collar, yanking the material up so that it raised his arms, his whole body to his toes.

If Tobe left, Merlin could let this boy go, and no harm done besides boys fistfighting in the gutter. Over the stranger-boy's screaming – frustration as much as anything else – Merlin called to Tobe, "Where do you live? Why don't you just go on home?"

But before Tobe could answer, a large shadow loomed at the corner of Merlin's vision – an impression of violent motion – and he ducked as a length of fire kindling whistled over his head. Wielded by a large man – fat over muscle – with hair on his bared forearms but not on his head, dressed in a leather work-apron that was evidently too warm, judging by the sweat that reddened his entire head.

"You get your filthy hands offen my boy!" the man yelled, eyes tiny with terror as he aimed another blow.

Merlin stumbled back, ducking again – if he let go his hold before he regained balance they might all fall. "Stop! Just a minute – let me explain!"

As his heel hit the crumbling wall of the abandoned house, he shoved Tobe behind and beside him. He let go the other boy, who darted away – but his father wound up for another full-strength swing at Merlin's head with a damn _log_ for heaven's sake, and there was no room to retreat.

Merlin used magic.

The log hovered aloft, as the fat man followed through, empty-fisted, and staggered himself. Merlin let the makeshift weapon drop to the mud-and-cobbles of the alley floor, but the man had been looking him right in the face – so of course he'd seen the golden gleam of magic.

"Sorcery!" the man gasped – sinking down and fumbling for his weapon again. "Get away! Stay away!"

A rock came sailing in from the direction the boy had run, thunking Merlin's head just past his temple. Pain blossomed blindly, and he raised his hand to catch the next one midair, as he'd done on the ride into Camelot. A strange ringing filled the air and he felt a bit floaty.. a bit tippy…

Beside him, Tobe bent to fill his own fists and throw a pair of rocks back – at the fat man, or the boy behind him, Merlin couldn't tell. The man growled, advancing with his reclaimed club – and Merlin snatched at Tobe again to force an unsteady retreat.

"No, no!" Tobe panted.

Merlin ducked another stone – caught one – and emerged in the street at the edge of the market, in the space that would have belonged to the collapsed house. But Tobe was furious that his youthful strength was not enough to effect his will, and fought Merlin.

"You let me go!" he yelled, boyishly shrill.

"Stop it," Merlin gasped, dividing his attention between restraining his little friend – who'd stand no chance against a boy _and_ his father – and defending them both. "Stop fighting, this isn't the way!"

Another projectile arced, and Merlin ducked behind his own shoulder – instantly feeling and smelling that it wasn't stone. Filth clung heavily to his shirt for a moment, before dropping to the street.

"You can't make me!" Tobe screamed, as the fat man pursued with his stick. "You can't make me! Let me go!"

Something struck Merlin in the back and he whirled, almost losing his balance – to see that a crowd was forming.

A mob. Some shocked, some angry, women and men. He saw a walking staff; he saw a hay fork. And now the danger was _far_ greater than a couple of bruises trying to get one man with a stick to stop; Merlin's mouth was dry with real fear, outnumbered by those who no longer cared for logic or talk, and no matter what he did – or didn't do – they would take it as provocation. And here was Tobe in the middle.

Then someone at the side threw a rock, and Merlin caught it with his magic.

Silence. And _fear_ almost palpable, and terrible…

He bent beside Tobe – glancing back to see that the fat man kept his distance – and said softly, urgently, "Run, Tobe. Run for the palace, and don't look back!"

The boy – shocked into stillness and silence by the menace thick in the air, incomprehensible to him and all the more terrifying for it – nodded. He took one step, tentative as if he thought he might not be allowed, looking around at the people who nearly ringed them in.

"He spelled that boy!" a woman's voice rang out.

And then it was chaos.

Merlin couldn't catch everything thrown at them – couldn't see all the way round at once – grunted in pain more than once. And Tobe cried out, crouching and raising thin arms to protect his head. Merlin felt something collide with the back of his neck, and liquid trickled over his skin – he wrapped his arms around Tobe and knelt, calling a shield of magic around them as the little boy sobbed in confusion and fright.

 _Just hold onto consciousness til they tire of this and leave. Just… hold… to…_

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur didn't immediately see what was causing the uproar at the end of the market street, but he felt instinctively that it wasn't good. People throwing things into an open center, hard and vicious, and the looks on the faces of the watchers turned his stomach.

"Hey!" he shouted, releasing Guinevere to begin pushing people out of his way, making for the center to put a stop to the commotion, so he could sort it out. "Move aside! Quiet down!"

Those nearest him glanced, recognized, obeyed, pushing into their more oblivious neighbors to make a path for him. And then, before the news of his arrival had time to make its way around the circle of the crowd, Arthur saw him. From the side, crouched in an attitude of fearful self-protection, clothing stained with dirt and organic refuse, more such _hovering_ in the air around him – clearly, magic.

Clearly, Merlin.

Arthur saw. The same skinny peasant locked into a crouched position, stained and smeared with the worst of what Camelot had to throw. Locked so that hands were no protection, and head could not duck. Merlin, in the stocks on Arthur's orders, again and again, for no real wrongdoing whatsoever, and what Arthur had felt was vindictive amusement. And always the younger man had been there for whatever guard came to release him, always he'd waited for Arthur to free him, never using magic for himself.

Arthur saw red. Shame and anger, and Merlin's blood. Merlin, bleeding for him. Enduring humiliation and torture, for him.

"What in hell's name is going on here?" he roared, shoving his way free of the crowd – and now his sword was in his hand.

 **A/N: Sorry about the cliffie, but I couldn't stuff everything I wanted to say about this incident into a decent length, so this will be continued!...**


	7. Chance and Hope

**Chapter 7: Chance and Hope**

 _"What in hell's name is going on here?" Arthur roared, shoving his way free of the crowd – and now his sword was in his hand._

A belated object soared into the air – he flinched instinctively, though it wasn't going to hit him – rotten potato struck the cobblestones and burst open, splattering Merlin's trouser leg with bits of mealy white.

No one moved. No one spoke.

"How dare you!" Arthur spat wrathfully, nearly choking on rage and guilt. He didn't look at Merlin; he couldn't look at Merlin. Instead he swept the point of his sword around the mob's ring. "How dare you attack a man under your king's protection? I ought to –"

And suddenly Merlin was in front of him, holding up empty hands as if to calm Arthur's temper. Pale and resolute in spite of the muck and vegetable juice – for one terrible moment appearing as blood on his neck and collar. "Stop. Arthur."

Arthur clenched his jaw, very nearly furious with Merlin for challenging him in that moment. But he breathed hard through his nostrils, once, and let his sword-point drop to the cobbles.

"This isn't the way," Merlin continued. "It was a – misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?" Arthur exclaimed. And looked down to see a young boy, whose tight-curly brown hair came up to Merlin's elbow, also pale and frightened. Guinevere stepped out from the crowd and came to put her hand on the boy's shoulder, coaxing him to lean back against her without actually embracing him.

"This is Tobe, Orryn's son," Merlin told him in a low, hurried way. "He got into a fight with another boy – I intervened and… it was taken the wrong way."

"Hell's sake, Merlin!" That anger still wanted an enemy to be directed toward; Arthur lifted his head to glare at the people, turning away from the object of their abuse. "Damn your superstition and bloody ignorance! You all _know_ that this man has been a friend to me, you've _seen_ that he has been nothing but a friend to each and every one of you – and would be so again, given the chance!"

Someone mumbled, into Arthur's pause for breath, loudly enough to be heard by at least some of those present, "Used magic – magic's evil."

Arthur took a step away, gesturing at both Guinevere and the little boy, who had begun to try to pick the bits of refuse off Merlin's clothes, particularly the right sleeve, and tomato from down his collar, though Merlin wasn't paying them much attention.

"He was defending himself – he didn't even retaliate, did he? He's supposed to prove his innocence by allowing your abuse?" For a moment he couldn't breathe, remembering Aerldan, and distracted himself by meeting one person's eyes after another, though most of them dropped away from his glare. "You ought to be highly ashamed of yourselves, each and every one of you – you trusted King Uther when he told you, magic was evil. Now trust me when I say, my father was a good king but in this, _he was mistaken_. Magic is only as good or bad as the person who has it, and the way it is used. And Merlin, has always used his for _all of us_."

"Arthur," Merlin said, sounding uncomfortable. Dissatisfied, disapproving; Arthur didn't look at him.

"Go on about your business," he told the people. "You are forgiven this once – but there _will not_ be a second such disturbance, am I understood? Or any further reports of people trying to take _my_ justice into their own hands!"

Guinevere bent to whisper into the boy's ear, rubbing a hand over his fluffy curls. He gave Arthur a wide-eyed look as if he was still in fascinated awe of a shouting king, then took to his heels.

"And you," Arthur growled at Merlin. "What the hell are you doing? What were you thinking? By _yourself_?"

Merlin began, "I don't need a –"

"Evidently you do!" Arthur shot back, gesturing with both arms at the townspeople pressing each other to leave the area, encouraged by Arthur's two mail-clad bodyguards.

"I'm sorry, all right?" Merlin said belligerently – shifted his gaze to Guinevere and repeated more sincerely, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… for this to happen. I only wanted to…"

"To what, Merlin?" Arthur goaded him, sliding his sword back into his belt with more vehemence than was necessary. _To hurt yourself? to cause trouble?_ he didn't say.

"I don't know, to get out of the palace awhile." Merlin was annoyed. "To…" He indicated the market with a wave.

Arthur _understood_. It was why he'd come as well. Something in his heart yearned to cross the distance between them because as different as they were, they were also very much the same… "Next time, bring someone with you," he instructed the younger man. "You've got friends that want to help you – let them, let… me."

"You?" Merlin shifted back half a step, and a very strange smile twisted his lips. "You can't help me."

Gwen was looking back and forth between them like she wanted to intervene, but didn't quite dare. And Arthur found he hated the word _can't_. "Why the hell not."

"You think you can just… order everyone to trust me. To trust you."

"No, I know I can't order, but they should listen –"

Merlin tipped his head. "Yesterday after the meeting adjourned, one of the councilmen asked, could I get you to do him a favor. Since I had you enchanted. He said, he was prepared to speak up in my defense, if you would…"

"If I would what," Arthur said, gripping the sword-hilt at his hip.

"No, never mind. Doesn't matter. He wasn't worried about you being enchanted, as long as you behaved rationally and didn't do anything to harm Camelot."

"It does matter." Arthur had the urge to shake sense into Merlin, and spoke each word deliberately, to curb his ire. "If I would what."

"If I tell you, then you'll know who it was."

Arthur hated Merlin's practicality. "That would be the point."

"And then you'll what?" Merlin's black brows pulled together in a frown. "Pull your sword on the council and threaten them to make them change their minds? You can't do that and you know it."

There was that damn _can't_ again. And an irrational, maybe dangerous desire to make Merlin tell him what he wanted to know.

Guinevere put her hand on his shoulder and drew it down the sleeve of his jacket, as if she was trying to soothe a beast with hackles raised. He met her eyes – mute entreaty – and closed his own to exhale, feeling her caress working. This was why he'd left Merlin to face the council without him, after all, the proof that neither of them controlled the other, and the genuine change of heart that they needed.

But at least the councilmen weren't going to throw food or other objects at Merlin. He and Leon had agreed, if Merlin was to join the patrols, it would be in the company of someone who could be trusted to protect him at all times and even from a fellow knight if need be. Was it going to be necessary to assign someone else to follow him out of the citadel and make sure this didn't happen again – as much for Merlin's safety and wellbeing, as the damage it would do to their cause? And how long would Merlin chafe under the strictures – a lack of freedom, the opposite of what he'd intended – before he decided, enough was enough?

"Are you sure I can't _do_ anything to help you," Arthur said, not quite denying the sarcasm in his voice, for admitting his concern and helplessness, both.

"You're doing what you can," Merlin said, as if to encourage or reassure Arthur, and _he_ was the one covered in waste of all kinds. "Just keep doing what you're doing, and I'll…"

Arthur suggested, "What if we – bring your mother here to Camelot?"

He knew he'd give plenty to be able to talk to a parent, to vent frustration or ask advice or seek comfort. And if Hunith was here – the thought had already occurred to him, in contemplating this offer – Merlin would be less likely to leave.

But he was shaking his head decisively. "No, I don't want her here. Not even for a visit, maybe not for a long time."

"Merlin." Guinevere was just as confused as Arthur. "Whyever not?"

"It's peaceful in Ealdor, and she's content there," he said to her, apologetically. "I don't want her to see – _this_. I don't want her to know…"

Arthur mentally finished the sentence, how much harder it was for him, now that everyone knew about his magic. He wondered if he was being inexcusably selfish, asking Merlin to remain. There were no major magical threats looming…

"Sometimes I thought." Merlin's smile was smaller, but gentler, as he faced Arthur with disarming honesty. "What if there was some big catastrophe, some fatal plague, some… undead army. If everyone could _see_ that I mean no harm, that I only want to protect…"

But the problem wasn't Merlin. The problem was magic. And Arthur didn't know how to fix that.

"I should go. Get cleaned up for the council meeting." Self-deprecating quirk of the lips, but the shadow in Merlin's eyes was alarmingly close to despair. Arthur took a step to follow, intending to walk with him, to bring Guinevere along, all three of them _together_ for everyone to see, strolling and relaxing, if it was still possible. But Merlin held out his hands again, to keep Arthur in place as he kept backing away – just as he had in the corridor the other night. "No, please. You two were… I'm sorry for interrupting."

Merlin gave Gwen a happy-conspiratorial smile, then twisted and loped away, so quickly Arthur would have had trouble catching up, even if Guinevere hadn't caught his sleeve. Before he glanced down at her, though, he watched his friend out of sight, watched the way he moved for any hint of ill effects of the incident, and couldn't tell. Maybe nothing worse than dung and rotten vegetables – he snorted. Wasn't that bad enough?

"I think he's used to being the one _asked_ , for help," Guinevere said quietly. "I think he needs to learn to recognize when _he_ needs it. He's quite proud that way… Determined to be self-sufficient. I'll talk to him later."

" _I_ need to talk to him later." Arthur huffed in dissatisfaction, feeling for the disc of the charm given him in his pocket. Hadn't spoken to Merlin about anything, really – the patrols, more commoners earning knighthood... "I expect Gwaine back in a few days, and I can set him on Merlin, easily."

"Weren't you just," Guinevere said, tugging him to begin walking again, "telling me that change comes slowly, and to be patient?"

Arthur growled a reluctant surrender to his lady.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

It was absolutely ridiculous, but Merlin believed he drew more sympathy and less antipathy, as he made his way back to the citadel looking and smelling like he'd been sent straight to the stocks after mucking the stables, as though looking pitiful meant he wasn't dangerous. For one sardonic moment, crossing the main courtyard, he contemplated intentionally walking around like this – so obviously _not_ a threat, and far better to be mocked for a messy misfortune, than hated for magic.

At least Arthur hadn't tried to follow him.

But by the time he reached the citadel, stairs and corridors and more stairs, bruises ached in half a dozen places. His arm. His head. He blamed the mild dizzy spells on the heat and the sun – probably he needed to eat something and drink some water before the council meeting again. Maybe a remedy from Gaius' stock would help; he couldn't imagine passing out in front of those men, but they'd probably be offended if he took a chair.

The last corridor before the last stair, his eyes went blurry and the stone went vague. He heard voices and glimpsed the silver-and-crimson of at least one knight; he turned to cling to the wall, out of the way as whoever it was would surely prefer.

"Merlin?"

Not a familiar voice, but he knew he knew… blinking and tensing against a faint shakiness, he turned to recognize Sir Carados – and then his father Lord Maddox, scowling critically and physically intimidating in a yellow-green mantle.

"What – happened to you?" Carados said, grimacing in distaste as he looked Merlin over. His hands hovered like he thought Merlin might fall – yet wished to keep distance and hope touching him to catch him wasn't necessary.

Merlin couldn't help a chuckle. "Tried to go to the lower town," he said. "This time, I missed a few of the rocks."

"They threw rocks at you again," Carados said, not really having to ask.

Merlin smiled. "Among other things. I guess it's my own fault."

Lord Maddox spoke for the first time, his deep voice making each word seem heavy, somehow. "And why is that?"

He leaned his back to the wall for support. "I was hoping they'd give me a chance, but maybe it's too soon. Maybe I'm rushing it."

"It?" the lord said, disapproval plain.

"I want to stay," Merlin said honestly. "Camelot is my home, I want to stay and help keep it safe – if I'm needed. I can't swing a sword –" he gave Carados a wry look – "but Camelot has something of a weakness when it comes to defending against threats of magic."

He could see Carados didn't understand, and resisted the thought that knights might not be enough. But Maddox, who'd already heard Merlin's explanations for the defeat of both the griffon and the questing beast, in council sessions, looked thoughtful.

"Arthur's going to be a good king," Merlin told him. "Give him time, and a chance. He's going to make Camelot greater and better than it is, and if I can help – I just want to help."

"You," Maddox said.

"Give me time, and a chance?" Merlin said lightly. "Magic doesn't have to be scary or threatening or even trustworthy, but – once people remember that they know me, that I haven't changed…"

"You do look –" Carados snorted – "like stocks, or stables."

"Both," Merlin agreed, feeling a bit light-headed once again, to have such a candid conversation with these men.

"Did you not defend yourself?" Maddox asked.

"I was trying to, without… panicking them and… ruining my chances. And, there was – there were innocent bystanders."

The set of Carados' jaw spoke of reluctance. "Are you – hurt?"

"Just bruised," Merlin reassured them.

Carados didn't look convinced. "There's blood in your hair."

Merlin shrugged, though it sent an ache shooting up his neck muscles into his head again; he kept one hand on the wall as he straightened, for just in case. "I'll be fine. With a bit of luck, I won't even be late for the council meeting."

Carados glanced at his father, who scowled and jerked his head back the way they'd come in a terse wordless order. "Come on, I'll walk with you," the knight said. "We've just come from speaking with Gaius, so I know he's in chambers."

"If he doesn't want you to stand up in council," Maddox added, shifting his weight in preparation to depart, the edge of his green-yellow mantle in hand. "I will inform the rest that I agreed with Gaius' recommendation, and the meeting can be postponed."

Merlin had an urge to laugh – heartily and helplessly. Maybe it was a good idea to walk about the citadel this way – if he could manage to walk properly. "I think I'll be all right in a bit, but… thank you, my lord."

Maddox didn't acknowledge his gratitude, but strode away without another word. Carados encouraged him to keep walking with a nod and a gesture.

"What were you speaking with Gaius about?" Merlin asked. "Neither of you is ill?"

Carados snorted. "We were asking him about _you_."

Merlin wasn't sure his legs were going to carry him up the stairs. " _Only_ good, I hope?" he said, feeling somehow desperate and amused at once.

"It never is, is it?" Carados said mildly.

But whatever Gaius had said of their history, or his special knowledge of Merlin's abilities and activities, still the father and son had stopped to show concern, to offer help.

"Come on, let's go," the knight added.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

If Ealdor was quaint and picturesque, Whenham was a pigsty.

Border town, and actually on Odin's side, as Gwaine understood it, the line being officially drawn at a muddy little creek just the Camelot side of town. But Odin didn't bother much about them and of course the Camelot patrols never entered, so they were virtually lawless.

And Gwaine didn't enjoy it half as much as he once would have.

Upon their arrival, they'd taken a room at the tavern, and Gwaine had finagled a job at the adjoining stables, their erstwhile reason for coming to and remaining in-town.

"Trust me," he'd told a dubious Brenner and a disapproving Bors.

Half the first day, he'd done a decent job seeming in earnest about his employment, in spite of the fact that his companions did nothing but walk about and observe, or broodingly nurse drinks in the tavern. Then, in keeping with the impression he wanted to make, Gwaine let laziness creep in, complained about the day's pay, and drank it away in the tavern before dinner – then complained some more.

By the second day, they were all accepted and _understood_ , by the inhabitants of Whenham. Gwaine heard things; he was told things… which they were now on their way back to Camelot to tell Arthur.

Bors turned in his saddle to mark Gwaine, the last of the three as they rode cross countryside. He was a weathered plank of a man, tough and unyielding and impossible to read; he wasn't amused by Gwaine's performance in Whenham, any more than he was the more private attempts at levity and camaraderie, but he restrained Brenner's more obvious responses of irritation.

"Checking to see that I haven't turned tail to take Odin's offer?" Gwaine said with a grin.

It had been hinted by more than one new friend in Whenham, that perhaps the other king could offer employment to someone of Gwaine's projected character – greedy, lazy, unscrupulous. Gwaine had been willing to follow through on the opportunity, to the point of entering Odin's palace for the chance to make sure of the origins of Uther's assassin.

The reaction of Bors and Brenner had been disappointing. Oh, right – knight of Camelot, now. There were issues with crossing the border, and getting caught. _Willing to risk it?_ he'd suggested, eyebrows raised and grin in place.

 _No_ , they'd said. And they'd both seemed surprised to see him still there, that morning when they'd packed up and ridden out of Whenham.

"No," Bors said, blunt as always. "Just thinking, you need to be in the lead if we're going to find this place you think is perfect for our camp tonight."

For answer, Gwaine pressed his heels to his mount's flanks to move up beside him. "It's not far," he assured the older man, then took the lead from Brenner.

It was a gamble, bringing these two knights to the ruins, but Gwaine had been a gambler a long time, in a lot of ways. And his biggest wins had always paid out from the biggest risks.

"So this is where outlaws hide," Brenner said sarcastically when the remaining stone structures came into view.

"This is where outlaws sleep," Gwaine corrected, reining in and considering the outer edifice of the crumbling main hall for a moment before dismounting. "It's out in the forest where we had to hide, trailing the patrols to protect Prince Arthur."

"Our patrols do not need extra help from outlaws and sorcerers," Brenner said scathingly, dismounting also and looking about curiously – or warily. Bors was just behind him, quiet but observant.

"Sure you did, plenty of times," Gwaine said cheerfully, leading his mount forward. "Right this way – we kept the horses just down here." A side chamber, the roof half caved in to allow light and fresh air, while still providing shelter. They hadn't exactly cleaned when they left – rather hurriedly for Arthur's coronation last week – but it wasn't bad. "You all," Gwaine continued deliberately, "never knew how many times Merlin's magic saved your lives, unknown. And unappreciated."

"No one asked him to!" Brenner snapped – at least following Gwaine's lead, and beginning to unsaddle his horse.

"You'd rather he didn't use it?" Gwaine asked provocatively. "Guess how many of your fellows might be dead, then? He says he's lost count."

"And you lived in this place with the sorcerer?" Bors interjected – probably to stop the argument escalating. Gwaine had noticed the tendency and success of such, earlier on their mission. He also noted the dispassionate way the words _the sorcerer_ came from the older knight's mouth. No spite, no hostility, just no familiarity either.

"Almost a year," Gwaine said. "Just through there is the main chamber. I'll finish tending the horses if you fellows want to see about something to eat – we always threw bedrolls by the hearth, that was plenty comfortable."

Another gamble. The two knights exchanged a glance; Brenner untied supply-bags from his saddle while Bors lugged his to the side and let it drop. Then both disappeared down the passage.

Gwaine did a thorough job with the three mounts, faster than he'd ever done in memory. Because… there was always the chance of losing, when a man gambled.

Coming into the main chamber, he saw that their packs and bedrolls had been set out at the hearthside, but the two other knights were nowhere in sight. Gwaine stood a moment in indecision; if they'd gone for fresh water, they'd have passed the chamber where the horses were stabled. Then a noise caught his attention and he glanced up, seeing candlelight flickering through the broken stones of the upper chamber Merlin had used.

Okay. Throw of the dice.

Gwaine took the stairs slowly, keeping his feet near the intact outer wall, as Percival had advised, making no attempt to hide his approach. As, evidently, Bors and Brenner felt no need to hide their suspicious curiosity. They looked up – no hint of a guilty startlement – as Gwaine lounged in the doorway.

"I see you found Merlin's room," he said easily. "What were you looking for? skulls and black candles? vials of blood and raven's carcasses?"

Bors snorted and turned back to the rack where Merlin had left a dozen sprigs of drying greenery. Brenner had one of Merlin's books open in his hand, tipped to see the pages clearly by the light of the tarnished candelabra they'd placed on the table, relic of the ruin's better days and stuffed with cheap, drippy candles from their stock.

"This – isn't magic," Brenner said, sounding confused. "It's just – physician's stuff. No spells, or… And those, are just like Gaius'."

"And that surprises you," Gwaine said wryly. "He was Gaius' assistant. Not half bad as an apprentice physician himself, though of course my opinion isn't professional."

"How was he to live with, truly?" Bors said. "You're foreign-born, so you wouldn't have fear of magic bred in you like some of our boys…"

Brenner scoffed like he resisted the accusation that any knight was afraid of anything.

"He was dead useful," Gwaine said. "Especially when the weather was bad. That boy could weave a cozier nest than a meadowlark, and rain-tight to boot, in the blink of an eye. Literally. Fires always lit and never went out. And in a fight – hells, you'd think it would be distracting, a sorcerer using magic rather than another fellow with a sword. But he's good, smooth and natural."

"This is Merlin we're talking about?" Bors rasped, amusement in his tone. "Trips over his own feet, can't carry more than two things at once without dropping them?"

Gwaine shrugged and grinned. "Gives me something to tease him about. And yes, I do feel perfectly comfortable teasing a powerful sorcerer. He's not slow about teasing back, either. You might have noticed."

"He was not always respectful with the prince," Bors commented.

Gwaine made a sound of agreement. "Only when a man deserves it. Which I happen to agree with – giving respect where it's earned, rather than required."

"That's a rather novel notion," Bors observed. But he was looking at Brenner.

Who shrugged and closed the book, setting it down on Merlin's work-table. "I'm hungry," he declared, and moved past Gwaine in the doorway.

He made space for Brenner – and Bors following with the candelabra – and descended more slowly. Watching the two ahead of him, slow and careful for the unstable nature of the stairway remains. A long gamble, it seemed, the payoff uncertain and deferred, but he had hope. If he had to win the knights to Merlin's side one at a time… well, if he had a gold coin for every time he'd been called stubborn, he'd have a strongbox to rival Arthur's, probably.

That is, if it hadn't been stolen or spent along the way… Gwaine grinned and joined his fellows in the main chamber for dinner.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin sat on his narrow bed in his quiet, candlelit room, absently paging through the one book he'd brought with him from the ruins. His book of magic, given by Gaius his first week in Camelot, four and a half years ago.

The week he'd met the great dragon. And told him, _There must be another Arthur because this one's an idiot…_

Turning a page, he reflected that he should have brought a different book. He knew this one too well by now to be diverted by its pages. The thought that he could begin to copy it – fresh with Gaius' sketches and recipes, his own notes – sidetracked him, but only momentarily.

He was thinking on hope. And feeling a bit betrayed by it.

As idiotic as Arthur had seemed to him, in those early days, he honestly had come through the complications of Merlin's magic revealed, through understanding and acceptance, to determination to change. Not only himself and his attitudes, but those of the entire kingdom as well, if possible.

If possible. That was where Merlin had stuck. Arthur was – _don't make me admit it out loud_ – a noble heart and a champion among men. And excluding those who had known and accepted before Uther's death – all the rest were… all the rest.

His determination to show Arthur the truth had ended in torture and near-execution. And to show all of Camelot?

He had hoped, that morning. Rising to blue sky and bright sunlight and fresh air, he had _hoped_. Today was the day for him to visit the lower town, to walk among them and prove… honestly, he couldn't remember anymore. Something about how unassuming he was and how gentle magic could be – and look how that turned out.

 _Have patience - Maddox and Carados seemed sympathetic_ , part of him reminded the rest.

 _Yeah, until I start talking about how I blasted Sophia into a million unarmed bits and tricked Morgana into drinking poison. And the dragon… Thanks a lot for torching Camelot three nights running, Kilgarrah, because really – I needed that extra challenge._

Hope, he felt, had betrayed him into attempting too much, too soon. He had no idea how this set-back might affect Arthur's plans, but it couldn't be good. _We wouldn't know what to do with easy_ , he'd once told Arthur, but by damn, he could do with just a bit of _easy_ , these days.

Voices sounded in the main chamber through the crack of the door ajar, and recognition jerked his spine straight. Reflexively he closed his book of magic and laid it down next to his hip on the bed.

"Is he here, Gaius?"

"He should be. He went up to his room over an hour ago, and I haven't seen him leave…"

Merlin pivoted, swinging his legs to the other side of the bed. On his feet in half a second, two long silent steps later, he was between the door and the wardrobe, where the door didn't open fully, making a small wedge of space behind it when it hit the side of the wardrobe.

Why had he reacted so? _Don't be stupid, come out and face Arthur_.

Because he knew how this conversation would go. Arthur had never come to Gaius' chambers wanting to speak to him, he used to come to holler and abuse and drag Merlin off to some onerous chore. So they'd stand an awkward moment, remembering those days and all the changes that had occurred since then, and Arthur would say, _Are you all right._

 _Yes, I'm fine._

 _You're not hurt? They were throwing stuff at you._

A lovely reminder that his friend and king had witnessed that moment of utter failure. _No, I said I'm fine._

Pause. _No, you're not fine. You're angry._

 _I'm angry because… I'm angry because… because it shouldn't have happened. It was my fault, I was stupid but now you have to bear the consequences, you had to save me and Arthur… that's always humiliating._

 _But you rescued me how many times?_ Arthur trying to be compassionate because he thought he should, not because it came naturally and easily, another mark of his character growth. _Let me… take care of you._

 _That's not how it's supposed to work! You're the one that's supposed to need me and I'm supposed to take care of you! I'm the servant, you're the king!_

 _What about friends._ And he'd wear that uncertain look that came but rarely, though crown prince had more reason than most to question the basis of the relationships he formed. _Aren't friends supposed to take care of each other_ …

The whole conversation flashed through his mind like a spark of fire – hot, sick, and shameful. He had a moment to step out before Arthur would see that he'd come from a hiding place – and he remained.

"Merlin?" Arthur said, shuffling about as if making a cursory search of the place. "Well, Gaius, he isn't here now, did he just – disappear?"

Gaius responded indistinctly, but Merlin guessed he was reminding Arthur of the teleportation spell.

"Dammit, Gaius, this is hard enough without him behaving like a child!"

This. The shift of royal opinion of the subject of magic. All the work and worry Arthur had done – had left to do – to support and persuade and reassure. And then Merlin's hope had run away with him like an over-eager two-year-old.

Arthur's boots stomped to the doorway, and Merlin heard the soft rub of wood where the king gripped the lintel. Then he said, so softly Merlin thought for a moment that his friend _knew_ where he was, "Why is he avoiding me?"

It took Gaius a moment to answer – and Merlin wondered whether the old man believed he had departed with the use of magic, or whether he knew Merlin was only lurking. And avoiding.

"The suspicion that he has been enchanting you, or still could, retains some support. I suppose Merlin thinks of his behavior as protecting you from accusations."

"It's not because…" Arthur's boot scuffed the threshold. "He's hurt, or discouraged, and doesn't want me to know?"

"Arthur, Merlin has believed in you for a long time, and he's waited content in the knowledge that things will change, that things _must_ change – and that you're the man to accomplish it. Now that you're on the verge of that… any discouragement is surely shallow and fleeting."

Arthur would do it. Merlin was certain of that. He'd protected Arthur til his friend had become the sort of man to seek the truth and let it guide his path – and now the sort of king who could and would change the world. He just, wasn't as sure of his own role, anymore. If Arthur didn't need his protection, and if he only slowed or reversed the progress they made in returning magic to Camelot…

"He told you what happened this morning in the lower town?"

Behind the door, Merlin winced. With Carados there, he'd had to tell Gaius enough to have the old man poking through his hair after the source of the bleeding. At least he'd been able to protest taking off his shirt for a more thorough examination; he was sure Gaius would have bullied the explanation for the bandage on his right arm out of him as well, at that point.

"He did. Nothing to worry about, Arthur, just a few bruises, nothing he hasn't lived with after a few hours in the stocks. It could have been much worse, probably."

Arthur whispered, too low for Gaius to hear, probably, " _Damn stocks_." Then he shifted; the wardrobe creaked and Merlin held his breath. But the king descended Merlin's three steps into the main room – though no further, by the sound of his voice. "Did he tell you about _this_?"

"What – in heaven's name happened?" Gaius rarely sounded so startled.

"Gwen said someone set it on fire."

In his tiny space behind the door, Merlin became aware of the bandage that still wrapped his arm – new delicate healing undisturbed by the scene in the marketplace, thankfully. Though now he wished he'd gotten rid of that blue jacket; he should have known that Arthur wouldn't drop the matter of his not wearing it, and that Gwen would have to say _something_.

"I knew nothing of this," Gaius said sternly, and Merlin cringed, knowing he was going to catch it from his old friend – whenever Gaius caught him.

"This is a threat, Gaius. And I don't know if Merlin fully comprehends that. I don't want to order him to go about with someone else, all the time –"

Merlin scoffed rebelliously, _As if I'd obey that order_ …

"But what if whoever did this decides to do it again? Light Merlin on fire, and not just the jacket the king gave him? Because _this is what we do to sorcerers in Camelot_? I don't want to lose him, Gaius, but if he decides he's _safer_ somewhere else – I can't hold him back!"

He rolled his eyes. _Always_ safer somewhere else, remember?

"Merlin won't leave you, Arthur," Gaius began, but the king's tirade was not finished.

"He already has!" Merlin could envision Arthur throwing an arm to gesture at the seemingly empty room for emphasis. "I have to claim a headache like a – a _girl_ , to come here late at night, expecting to find him where he belongs for once –"

Oh, the sarcasm. Merlin pressed his lips together against an urge to leap out and retort.

"And still can't get him to talk to me! About this jacket, about the patrols, about more commoners training for knighthood, not even about _this_ – and _this_ is supposed to be his area of expertise!"

 _What this_ , Merlin thought curiously. _Patrols? More commoners becoming knights – that surely means Elyan and Percival! What_ … this?

"What is it?" Gaius said, in the vague yet interested way he used when studying something novel.

"The woman who gave it to me said it protected against evil enchantments or some such."

Merlin breathed twice, as time slowed and sound muted. And this was why he was here, behind the door. Because it was all regret and apology between them, these days, guilt without responsibility which couldn't be forgiven, as the cause was so much bigger than either of them. _I'm sorry for… no,_ I'm _sorry that_ … And resentment. And impatience. That selfish feeling that made him sick to his stomach, but he couldn't quite shake. Loss of freedom and anonymity – his own fault, not Arthur's, but it was always, all for him – and his friendship with the prince.

"The runes are correct, sire, but it appears crudely made. Merlin would be able to tell better than I, if there was any magical quality to it."

"And Merlin's not here." Arthur's irritation had quieted, but only somewhat. "I can't win against _this_ , Gaius – if I use it, that only encourages them. If I don't, they suspect Merlin's influence even more."

"In the absence of education and the encouragement for objective thought, Arthur, people are going to believe what they've been taught – and they've been taught that magic is evil, for more than twenty years. Give them enough time, Arthur, they'll eventually believe you, too."

Pacing footsteps, quick and tight. "He's meant to be on patrol starting tomorrow," Arthur continued, in a voice low and unhappy. "I wanted to _discuss_ it with him, not just inform him he's expected."

Merlin sagged against the wardrobe, minutely. And a year ago, wouldn't he have laughed himself silly at the thought of Arthur saying that about any issue that came up? Here he was hiding from his king, as he had done from his prince, and now it was that instinct, rather than hope, that was betraying him.

Stupid, stupid. But he still didn't step out and grin and say, _Here I am, what'd I miss?_

"If you see him tonight. Show him this? And if he still won't talk to me, let him know he should meet Leon's patrol in the courtyard at dawn? I'll tell Leon he's to wait half an hour, but then…"

"Of course, sire. And Arthur… don't give up. Not on Merlin, not on yourself, not on all the rest of us, your foolish people."

"No." So quiet Merlin almost couldn't hear. Tired, again, but resolute. "Never, Gaius. I just wish…"

Pause. And it lasted, til the main door closed, and it became the physician's solitary silence. Merlin swallowed twice and cast his eyes upwards toward the flickering candlelit shadows on the ceiling, to keep the moisture that stung his eyes from overflowing. _I wish, too. That all of us were a little less foolish_.

Shuffling footsteps approached, and Merlin listened to Gaius climb the three stairs, and linger in the doorway. "Merlin?"

He deserved the scolding, no doubt about it. But he neither moved nor spoke, and after a moment, the old man sighed, and reached to swing the door closed behind him, unconsciously freeing Merlin from his hiding space.

"Oh, my boy. Why must you always make it hard for yourself?"

Merlin blinked, and the tear brushed his face.

 **A/N: I don't expect to be able to get another chapter out before I leave, so it'll be about four weeks… sorry! Upside being, new chapters should come out quickly, after that – or steadily, at least, through November…**

 **And PS, if anyone else is doing NaNo, send me a PM, and we can be buddies! (we can be buddies even if you're not doing NaNo…)**

 **Random thought: Does it seem significant to anyone else that for Arthur's coronation, he knelt before the throne, but for Morgana's coronation, she sat in it? and didn't make any vows?...**


	8. From Citadel to Forest

**Chapter 8: From Citadel to Forest**

Merlin's morning began early. Creeping out before Gaius had woken, he paused only to snag a crust of bread for his breakfast and set Gaius' to warm on the hearth.

There was a round disc of – leather, he discovered, touching it – laid on top of his blue velvet jacket slung over the corner of the table. The rune clumsily burned into the upward side was one of protection, but he gripped the object momentarily, _feeling_ it – not a scrap of magic. A harmless bit of nuisance. Letting it fall back on the table, he eased himself through the door without waking his mentor.

He carried the cloak he'd worn last year to hide his identity as a sorcerer, not quite as deceased as commonly thought, but over his arm. He wanted to wear it, to hide in its enveloping folds and sneak unnoticed – but that desire both worried and disappointed him. _Giving up so soon?_

There were a few suspicious looks cast his way, but most seemed too tired or too busy, even at that hour, to worry about him, and he arrived in the courtyard to find Leon waiting for him. As he descended the stair toward the knight, another man dressed in serving-drab clothing jogged upward, out of breath.

"Orryn," he said, and the fuzzy-haired king's-servant looked up in surprise. "I guess you heard about what happened yesterday – is Tobe all right?"

"He'll be right as rain in no time," Orryn reassured him. "Determined to be independent, like most boys, I suppose – he's the reason I'm a bit late, this morning."

Merlin smiled, remembering those days when he had to hurry, late to wake Arthur. And he missed it, with a sudden pang, even though Arthur had a tendency to grouchiness in the morning. There was an intimacy to that first exchange of the day… "Arthur's got a temper, still?"

Orryn opened his mouth to offer a loyal protest – then stopped, as if remembering who he was talking to, and allowed a smile. "Not usually. But he's been drawn pretty thin lately…"

"Don't I know it," Merlin said. And still had no idea, how he could help that… "I'll see you – I've got Sir Leon waiting on me, now."

"A patrol?" Orryn said, turning to look down at the activity in the courtyard, as he began to ascend, one slow step at a time. "Good luck."

"You, too," Merlin said lightly, and when they parted, he moved down to join Leon. "I should have come earlier," he told the knight. "I didn't know if I was supposed to – get my own mount, or supplies, or…"

"No, we're ready for you," Leon said, casually adjusting the fit of one glove over his fingers. Merlin noticed that there was an extra horse saddled, held by a yawning stable-boy rather than a red-caped knight checking buckles and bags. "I have the idea that if you pressed Arthur to say, he envisions a future where young magic-users might accompany every patrol."

"Really?" Merlin said, finding a bitter taste in his mouth, again, for having hidden from his king when Arthur came to talk.

Leon shrugged, noncommittal. "You haven't any specific orders. Just stick to me like you would to Arthur, and if there's trouble, follow your instincts. Only, don't hide –" Merlin cringed, and Leon gave him a wondering glance – "and otherwise, don't use magic without asking first. Not that you're prohibited from it, of course, but it is still illegal and Arthur feels, if it isn't an emergency, then I – or whoever you might be with on other patrols – should aid in the decision, to use or not to use. Any questions?"

"I suppose there will be," Merlin sighed. As he swung into the saddle, arranging his cloak around his shoulders but leaving the hood down, he wondered what the townspeople would think of Merlin riding through with the patrol.

Of the half-dozen, four ignored him, one glared, and Sir Kay gave him an expressionless nod. It was a start; he sighed and gathered his reins to follow Leon, signaling _Move Out_.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur's morning began with disappointment and uncertainty. At Orryn's quiet tray-rattle and _good morning_ , he rolled and squinted at definite sunlight illuminating the fuzzy hair of his servant as he opened the curtains.

Past dawn. By half an hour or more.

Arthur erupted from the bed, growling, "I thought I said to wake me at first light!"

Orryn retreated to let Arthur open the window and lean out, to see a good three-quarters of the main courtyard past the curve of the wall – but no indication of a lingering patrol. They were already gone, then.

"I apologize, sire – Tobe had a restless night. Bad dreams, after… after yesterday."

Arthur sighed and turned to lean his hips against the sill, watching his manservant layer his clothing over the top of the changing screen, in the order that he would need them, as had become their way. "Is he all right?"

"Yes, my lord, thanks to you. And," Orryn paused and flicked a glance to Arthur as if fearing to anger him, "thanks to Merlin."

He grunted. "You spoke to him?" Everyone but Arthur, it seemed to him; even Gwen said she caught him for a moment after the council meeting – probably because he'd taken the long way around to avoid Arthur, who was waiting for him.

"Yes, my lord," Orryn repeated deferentially. "He was in the courtyard this morning, preparing to ride with Sir Leon's patrol, as you mentioned you wanted."

"Well… good." And hoped to high heaven that it would be.

After that, his morning – divided between Geoffrey and the treaty records, more petitioners that had arrived from outlying towns, and the citadel's steward – became quite dull indeed.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Gwaine's day started out boring, compared to most of the days of his adult life.

An hour's ride from Camelot meant they arrived after breakfast, so he'd have to last til lunch on the cold remains of their cold dinner in the ruins. Sir Bors claimed the responsibility of reporting to the duty officer – and to Arthur himself, if the king so requested – and sent Brenner and Gwaine to morning training.

Lancelot wasn't there, and evidently no one had asked Elyan or Percival to participate, either. Gwaine bit his tongue and did his best to hold his pace to the drills without embellishment.

But after tending to laundry and armor after the trip, he was freed from duty – and allowed it might be worthwhile visiting the forge, or finding Percival at whatever odd job he'd found these days.

Gwaine strolled the market – buying two meat-pies for his noon meal and juggling them while they cooled – relaxing into the undemanding anonymity of his usual dress, the bustle and busyness of common life. Amusing when it wasn't _his_ bustle and busyness, and he rather thought he might thank Arthur for that as well, one of these days. It was nice not having to figure out where his next meal was coming from, or having to dodge and duck and steal – even if they had always paid back the value of what they took in other ways.

And when he saw the last cart and heard the seller's calls of, "Charms against magic! Repels the evils of sorcery! Clears a mind enchanted!" Gwaine grinned.

Now his day was going to get _fun_.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Midafternoon – and Gwaine – found Arthur in the king's sanctum. A small, private room between the king's quarters – which Arthur didn't now and maybe never would use – and the council chamber. One feature that Arthur had discovered years ago, and now wondered how often his father had taken advantage of also, was that the fireplaces of the two rooms shared a single chimney. What that meant on this late spring afternoon, was that Arthur could stand before the hearth in the king's sanctum and hear a fair amount of what was said in the council chamber.

He'd never done this before, simply because he'd never been interested in eavesdropping on meetings, before his father had decided, high time he attended them. Today, though. According to Geoffrey's reports, the council had questioned Merlin on just about every other issue that unfortunate trial – and even more dreadful interrogation by torture – had raised. Except for…

"What about Morgana?" Agravaine said, in the other room.

Voices sounded odd in the echo of the stone chimney. Sinister hollow whispers.

"I think we've put off discussing the lady who was ward to King Uther until her tragic death last year, long enough," Arthur's uncle continued.

Arthur wondered whether he'd raised the question before, only to have it delayed by others – Gaius at least would anticipate the very real problems that might complicate Merlin's attempted explanation of that confession.

"You claimed –" Arthur recognized Geoffrey's voice, neutral-sounding as if he were reading – "that you had killed Lady Morgana, which resulted in her desire to see the same happen to an unspecified _us_."

"I think," that was Merlin, "I need to begin by reminding you of the shepherd's report about Idirsholas which Arthur was sent to investigate…"

Arthur gave the hearth a wry grimace, remembering how he'd teased Merlin about being so nervous when they'd entered _those_ ruins – to find those enchanted masked knights. Whom they'd only just escaped… and Arthur had ripped Merlin's shirt to bandage what he'd complimented as Merlin's first battle wound. And what Merlin had protested was the damage to the garment…

His sigh was interrupted by the opening of the door. He dropped his forearm from the mantle and his boot from the hearth, turning with the intention of quitting the room, to see Gwaine letting himself in. Out of armor and uniform, instead wearing the sort of impish grin that made Arthur groan inwardly. What _now_?

"I wish to report that," his newest knight declared, "you had a problem in your market, but I've dealt with it."

Oh, _again_ … "Be more specific?" Arthur suggested tiredly.

He could still hear Merlin's voice, rising and falling in uninterrupted murmur; the young sorcerer was far more adept than Arthur would have suspected, at leaving certain awkward details out of a story. Arthur suspected the problems would come when the questions flew thick and fast from several councilmen at a time without respite – but Merlin was probably okay for now.

"Peddler selling charms that protect against enchantments," Gwaine said, and Arthur straightened in surprised reaction. "All I've got to say is, he did _not_ think that through logically. And, it's hard to sell worthless trinkets when no one can hear you above the laughter."

Arthur found he could picture the scene quite easily. That quick wit and quicker tongue of his roguish knight defusing the whole situation through ridicule. He allowed a half smile as he shook his head, and Gwaine's grin broadened.

"I left him packing up pretty quick," he added. "But I didn't know if you wanted to worry about him making trouble in the outlying towns?"

"Not today," Arthur decided on an exhale. Not unless there were complaints; royal orders to cease and desist could have the opposite effect in fact, and that was fairly likely to happen in an instance concerning magic, just now.

But in the other room, Gaius was speaking, and he sounded professionally irritated. Arthur alerted and turned to hear more clearly – which in turn interested Gwaine, who stepped closer and cocked his head curiously.

"Hemlock can prove a deadly poison, it is true," the court physician was saying. "And that is why I put a cautionary symbol on the labels of the bottles I store it in – but I use it to alleviate breathing problems and ease the pain of chronic conditions, as well as to cure certain infections of the skin. Administered by an apprentice – an unknown quantity diluted into an also unknown amount of water - I would decline to say for certain, what the long-term effects of such a draught might be. Not necessarily fatal, though, no."

Arthur strode from the room, brushing past a startled Gwaine, who trailed him – and he allowed it – out to the corridor, and down to the council room.

Ignoring the guards there, as well as the two assigned to his constant personal guard who followed, he pushed the double doors open, one with each hand. He paused momentarily, gaining the attention of every man in the room - as before, some seated, some standing in privately-conversational pairs. Urbert and Agravaine closest to Merlin in accusatory attitudes; Merlin himself exuded both humility and exhaustion, dressed in his rough commoners' clothes, with hands clasped behind his back and – after one swift glance across the room to Arthur – his eyes on the floor.

"A week, gentlemen?" Arthur said, loudly enough that all would hear him, in a tone he tempered to something gently sarcastic as he moved further into the room. Gwaine followed him silently. "How long do you intend to keep him telling you stories and answering your questions? Enough."

"But, sire, you agreed that we could –" Lord Urbert sputtered.

"Indeed I did, and so you have," Arthur returned. "But I know for a fact that each one of you has duties outside this room – and I can only assume that at least some of them have been neglected this week. And I would prefer not to begin my reign by forgetting my lords' positions."

A good many glanced at each other with recollection and disquiet; Geoffrey gave a sigh as of relief, letting his parchment roll itself into a loose scroll on the tabletop, as he simultaneously wiped his quill and stoppered his inkwell. Gaius stood from a seat near Merlin, and folded his hands into his sleeves.

Arthur added, "I think a two-day suspension of the council might be both appropriate and valuable, before we reconvene to discuss other matters of concern to the kingdom. Those of you who have traveled far from your homes to reach Camelot, please make yourselves comfortable in the quarters provided for you, and don't hesitate to make any request known. You are all dismissed; I will see you back here at midmorning, in two days."

For one more moment, the elderly men – appointed to their positions of authority, power and control when Arthur couldn't yet feed himself – hesitated. But evidently no one cared enough to oppose him outright. Lord Rowland worked his way out of his chair and began to shuffle toward the doors; Lord Maddox twitched impatiently away from Urbert, leaving him to speak to Bernard, and instead approached Merlin himself, Arthur was surprised to note. The others seemed to accept corporately that the meeting was over, either moving to leave silently or delaying in quiet conversation.

Arthur passed between Geoffrey, who gave him a nod of respect, and Gaius who squeezed his elbow – surreptitiously but in very genuine relief at the interruption and cessation of questioning their young friend.

Agravaine intercepted him. "Your Majesty, we have not yet been able to discuss the circumstances of the Lady Morgana's accidental death, and I for one believe there to be more to the story than a fall from a frightened horse, given what little testimony we heard from the sorcerer about last year's incident with the sleeping curse –"

Arthur drew himself up. Sometimes he wished he was closer to this last remaining member of his mother's family – his only family, now – and sometimes he wished he even liked the man.

"I am the one who gave that account to the court," he said evenly. "What information do you assume I withheld?"

"Oh – no, Arthur, I did not mean to imply that you – certainly not, that is, I only meant –"

"Good afternoon, Uncle," Arthur said. "I will see you in two days' time."

Moving past the older man, he caught a flash of Agravaine's surprised but suppressed affront turning to a sneer as his uncle glimpsed whatever expression graced Gwaine's face behind Arthur. Something unabashedly disrespectful, probably.

Lord Maddox met Arthur's eye, bowing slightly to excuse himself from the royal presence, leaving Merlin to face Arthur – who was both glad of the opportunity, and a little irritated that his younger friend was still making a private conversation difficult. Though that feeling was lessened by the closer sight of Camelot's only sorcerer – dark circles under his eyes and no smile showing, not even to cover and hide. Merlin looked like he needed sunshine – though he'd just been on patrol that morning - and two extra meals of the quantity and quality Orryn brought to Arthur. And a week of sleep.

Gwaine clicked his tongue in brisk sympathy as he stepped beside Arthur, joining Merlin. "You know, mate, I think I'm going to let you off telling all those stories I've been saving up to claim from you someday. They really put you through the wringer, didn't they?"

Merlin avoided Arthur's gaze, and the question, instead favoring Gwaine with a small smile. "All of them?"

Gwaine grinned at the slight evidence that Merlin's usually indomitable spirit wasn't permanently stifled. "Half, then," he said easily.

Before Arthur could say anything – before he could think of what to say, still in chambers with a dozen opinionated councilmen – Merlin turned to him. Though, without completely meeting his eyes. "That amulet you left with Gaius," he said. "It isn't magical at all. Just so you know."

"Amulet," Gwaine repeated. "Leather disc about yea-big?" He approximated the circle with curved thumb and forefinger. "How did you figure that? Did you test it? Next time let me know beforehand – I wish I could have watched."

"You think he was holed up in Gaius' chambers trying to enchant our court physician to test one of those bits of uselessness?" Arthur mocked Gwaine – then met Merlin's look of surprise, with a little reconsideration. "You didn't, did you?"

"No… but speaking of Gaius, I should go – he's going to need help, he's going to be busy after all this time spent with the council…" Arthur looked over his shoulder to see that only Emund, Agravaine, and Bernard remained, in close conversation. "Please excuse me, sire," Merlin added, slipping past him and reaching the door in a blink of his leggy, awkward – but somehow _swift_ – stride.

Gwaine's eyebrows were up, and there was no sarcasm to be found in his expression, or silence.

 _He just said_ please _. And_ excuse me _. And_ sire _._

"Gwaine," Arthur said, feeling unpleasantly off-balance. "Could you – make sure – he's not alone? if you know what I mean…"

"Spent a year doing just that," Gwaine said breezily, but with an undertone of sincerity that reassured Arthur. "My pleasure, m'lord." Leaning into his departure, he tossed a casual salute that somehow conveyed more respect than most other's proper gestures.

Arthur glanced around the room, now alone with the echoes, and breathed deep. So that was over… Now, in two days, _he_ would face the questions of these two dozen sharp old men.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"It's better than sitting in council, isn't it."

Merlin dragged his questing senses back from the watchfulness of the surrounding forest, to Sir Leon, who'd dropped back to a position next to Merlin in the patrol.

Riding through the lower town earlier that morning, he'd wondered whether he'd been set to this patrol, this morning, on purpose - so that he wouldn't be anywhere near Arthur's council meeting. He had his suspicions about that last session, too, two days ago, the king's sudden appearance to interrupt the full explanation that would have incriminated Morgana as a traitor to her benefactor and all of Camelot.

Water dripped down his collar, tipped from a leaf overloaded by the persistent drizzle, minimized by the thick foliage overhead, and he flinched reflexively, taking the time to think.

"Yes," he said finally. Even though he had the same feeling out here, of unnoticed regard, even though Arrok had glared daggers whenever his gaze had fallen upon Merlin, this patrol was nowhere near as bad as the council sessions had been. A full day's tour of the surrounding forests and paths – no borders, no towns… no, he didn't suppose he'd rather remain in the citadel after all. "That's over now, though, thanks to Arthur."

Leon hummed neutrally. "You know their acceptance of Arthur granting you your freedom was contingent on the opportunity of the council to question you further – not the conclusions they might draw, afterward."

Merlin straightened, fingering his reins and turning his gaze ahead of them toward Arrok in the scout's position, huddled and miserable in silver and heavy damp scarlet. "I – guess I didn't realize that."

From the way his heart lightened, he supposed he had anticipated deliberation from the council, a verdict delivered to Arthur for action as king. Maybe he had expected Arthur to say to him, after all, _I'm sorry and thanks for everything, but you're going to have to leave Camelot._

"Arthur's been keeping me informed in a general way," Leon added as an explanation, "of what Geoffrey noted about those meetings."

"Yeah?" Merlin said, giving the senior knight a sidelong look. The meetings had been comparable to his time with Uther's questioner, in the sense that he couldn't afterward recall exactly what had been said – or implied.

But Leon wore a small smile, and a relaxed ease under the low level of habitual patrol vigilance. "You know you won't always be the only one."

"The only one what?" Merlin asked.

"Person using magic in Camelot."

Merlin felt his eyebrows climb his forehead. "Are you allowed to say that? It's not treasonous?"

Leon tipped his head and gave him an ironic look. "Do you believe our king would consider it such?"

He felt the smile warm him to his toes. "No, I guess not. I just… I know Arthur wants all his laws to be fair, but… I never really envisioned a Camelot where people used magic openly, and everyone was happy about it. That might… take rather a long while."

"Things haven't been smooth for you since you've been back," Leon observed.

"Don't know what to do with easy," Merlin said softly, still smiling.

"It's a matter of… education. And familiarity, I think," Leon said, and Merlin found himself shifting in the saddle to face the knight more fully.

Given his title and position by Uther, only a handful of years older than Arthur, always properly obedient but still quietly compassionate. He'd been prepared to allow Arthur to release Merlin, only hours after the discovery of his illegal magic by the patrol of knights – not unlike this one, actually. Compared to Arrok, who would have supported Arthur's decision to run Merlin through on the spot.

"I saw you, that day," Leon went on. "I saw the look on your face when that bandit attacked Arthur from behind… We all know that as prince, he never made things easy for anyone. For _us_ ," he stressed, glancing at Merlin to be sure he understood the reference to the knights, Camelot's fighting force and Arthur's men, "it was a good thing. It pushed us to be better, to fight harder. But he always dealt with his servants the same way… you were the only one who pushed back. The only one who reacted like a knight, rising to Arthur's challenge – literally, sometimes, I'm told."

Merlin couldn't help but smile again, in spite of the surprise and faint embarrassment he felt.

"I knew you well enough to trust, whose side you were on," Leon said. "For me, there was no question that you were Arthur's man, magic or no. It took me a bit, though, to learn and understand, what we'd all been taught about the nature of magic, wasn't quite right. Education, and familiarity. Things will get better as people adjust to you – and if Arthur eases the restrictions on those who can use magic, there will be others to help accustom people to the idea of benevolent magic. Arthur has been thinking about – someday, mind – organizing a guild, or some such, for magic. To register people with power and ability, make sure they're properly trained, and so on – as I understand Gaius did for you."

The path took a downward slant from ridge to valley, and the steep incline took Merlin by surprise – as inattentive as he'd become to his surroundings – and he nearly tipped from his saddle into the underbrush.

Leon – who maybe had only sought to encourage him in the difficulties of the present by speaking of the future – took the opportunity to survey the others in the line of his patrol. Wordlessly, he held his mount up to drop further back, letting Merlin descend unaccompanied in the column necessary for that part of the path.

A guild. Training, and… registration. Merlin's stomach twisted with unease, an echo of the feel of the forest around him, apprehension to the point of dread, because… there were so many ways that could go very, very wrong. Even with the best of intentions – and didn't Arthur have that? when it came to Merlin, at least…

 _Emrys._

For the second time, he nearly fell from his horse – snapping his entire body around in the direction of the call, searching – seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

 _Emrys._ It came again.

Not quite an urgent call, only a courteous declaration of presence - but the desire for conversation, Merlin felt, was implied. The patrol hadn't ridden coincidentally, with him, near the druids who felt it neighborly to hail him in passing. If it was who he thought it was, then the older man had come a considerable distance, crossing Camelot's borders at a time when magic was an uneasy topic at the forefront of everyone's minds again.

 _Emrys…_ The voice speaking to his mind was interrupted when Merlin's mount shouldered rather heavily into and past the horse ahead of him, reined in on the path. Merlin was startled himself – embarrassed at the look of furious disgust on Sir Arrok's face.

"You clumsy fool," the stocky blonde knight hissed, straightening and tightening his reins to calm his horse, offended by Merlin's inattention. "Why the hell are you here? Aren't you causing enough trouble in the citadel, you've got to spread your infectious evil around the entire kingdom?"

Merlin clamped tight on the desire to retort, to retaliate with some sly bit of serves-you-right prank-magic, and instead said shortly, "Sorry. 'Scuse me."

Arrok twisted in his saddle to address Leon as the captain of the patrol. "We've reached the stream, Sir Leon."

"Let's dismount," Leon's voice came more faintly, deciding the course of action for all half-dozen knights. "Water the horses, take a look upstream and down for any signs of unusual activity close to the path."

Merlin had only a passing worry for the druids who'd spoken to him. Knowing Merlin was here, they'd know of the knights as well, and hide themselves.

If that was their decision.

Merlin dismounted with the others, led his horse several yards upstream, where the trickling brook curved further from the path. He glanced back at the others – all clearly visible in their red-and-silver, spaced out and reading the story the stream told in a desultory, unhurried way. He couldn't pick out which one was Leon at the distance, but waited til Sir Arrok, closest to him, was turned away.

 _Emrys._

He dropped the reins of his well-trained mount into the rocky bank of the stream, and moved out of sight of the knights in a handful of swift, silent steps, further covered by the sound of the water.

 _Where are you?_ he responded.  
Following his instincts up a bank, he ducked a low branch and moved a thorny bush aside. This was freedom as he hadn't felt it in almost two weeks; he ignored how that was horribly ironic, but couldn't quite deny the guilt that accompanied the feeling.

And, if he was honest, a bit of fear.

He'd told Arthur, _Sometimes I thought, what if there was some big catastrophe, some fatal plague, some… undead army. If everyone could see that I mean no harm, that I only want to protect_ … For the love of Camelot, though, he didn't mean it. Everyone else needed easy.

And suddenly, they were there. Ten men, divided to his right and left, mere paces away, shapes of cowl and cloak but absolutely peaceful. He felt, as he often did, the outsider and the threat.

"Emrys."

He'd been right about the identity of the druid who'd addressed him silently. Iseldir stood calm to his left, the only one with his head uncovered, but Merlin felt no compunction about entering the pocket of their company, turning his back to the hidden strangers behind him.

"Iseldir," he said, with a slight bow of his head in respect. "What is it? Something has brought you here."

"Indeed," the druid responded. "The land stirs in anticipation of change, something more than spring. We walk hidden in this kingdom, yet – but not for long, I think, til it is Arthur's and we may truly fear nothing." Merlin took a deep breath, and it seemed he expelled something of the weight and worry of that process and his uncertain role in it, with his breath. Then Iseldir added, "However…"

Merlin's focus sharpened. Because really, it was always something, wasn't it? And he did sympathize with Arthur's preference for action, when it was called for.

"We have recently been robbed of a precious object –" He thought immediately of the Cup of Life which Morgause had stolen from Iseldir's clan, almost half a year ago, and opened his mouth in alarm. The older druid forestalled him, freeing one hand from his robes to raise in a placating gesture. "No, nothing so dangerous, in and of itself. Though you must still be wary – it was a key, but it was also a trap."

"What do you mean?" asked Merlin, giving the other druids a quick glance – though what could be seen of their demeanor betrayed nothing. "What kind of a trap? Who was the thief, and do you know what he plans?"

Something against Camelot, if it had brought them here to speak of it to him.

"I do not know," Iseldir answered. "We have concerned ourselves with the object's safekeeping for centuries, without need to know all. But there is a prophecy that accompanied the artifact, for when the time came for it to be used. _Only when the way ahead seems impossible… will you have found it_."

"But what does that –" Merlin began.

"You lying traitor!"

The shout startled Merlin – only Merlin, by the lack of druidic reaction. He spun about to see Arrok, crouched and prowling forward, sword ready in his hand and rage coloring his face .

"Proof!" the knight continued, his eyes darting between the druids, his tone both eagerly triumphant and warily fearful of the unknown but assumed magic. "You meet secretly with Camelot's enemies – I knew you were betraying King Arthur, and all of us!"

"You're wrong!" Merlin contradicted, stepping between two of the still-cloaked druids – casually looking over their shoulders at the interruption – to face the knight. He spread his hands in an attempt to pacify Arrok, knowing he would no longer be considered unarmed. "They would be friends, they bring a warning of trouble –"

"They bring trouble themselves!" Arrok snarled. "Evil, and magic!"

He lifted his blade two-handed over his right shoulder and leaped forward, swinging roundly at one of the two men – or both at the same time – on Merlin's left.

The stillness of the druids alarmed Merlin. He had the impression that not all of them would defend themselves, or even run, but if they did the former, while magic was still illegal and only Merlin was free to –

He drew himself up, closing his fist over Arrok's blade from four feet away, holding it captive in midair as the knight – like the bandit who'd struck a blow at Arthur, defenseless – stumbled surprised through a parody of his attack, empty fists swinging like a clumsy club.

"Please," Merlin said swiftly – glancing back at Iseldir and trying to motion his advice to retreat, to escape; the druids didn't move. "Please, just listen –"

"Poison," Arrok said. "Sorcerous lies and enchantment. You're all the same – and ought to be destroyed, even if King Arthur can't see that!"

One step of advancement was all it took to bring him within striking distance of Merlin – and too fast for him to react. He saw the gloved fist – then blackness – then the mottled leaf-and-sky canopy far and vague overhead. The ground was hard beneath his back; he struggled to breathe again after Arrok's blow.

The circle of hooded druids leaned into his vision. "Emrys," Iseldir said. "The tomb is a trap – when the way ahead seems impossible –"

Arrok appeared, swinging violently through the druid figures, which dissipated like shadows – not really there, part of Merlin's mind noted with interest at the display of magic – and only served to whet the knight's temper.

Merlin flipped to scramble away, to gain his feet and – do something productive – but something struck him under the jaw hard enough to slam the opposite side of his head into the ground, drawing an involuntary cry of pain from him and dripping more darkness into his vision. A boot, maybe.

He felt the weight and armor of the knight as Arrok straddled him – right arm trapped beneath him, the burn _rubbing_ , the left pinned in the knight's fist, helplessly out to the side.

Arrok grinned at his ineffectual squirming – and drew the knife at his belt. Slowly, and provocatively.

Merlin felt the rasp of metal through his bones, through the panic of live-without-using-magic because how in all hells could he explain using it against a knight, even in self-defense? He kicked and struggled and panted out, "No! No…"

And a rush of cloak-and-mail overwhelmed Arrok, trapping and pinning the knight's arms, dragging him back off Merlin, who kicked his feet free, warding off another cloak-and-mail blur.

"What the hell is going on here!" That was Leon, loud and upset like Merlin had never heard him.

It cleared some of the pain-haze, and Merlin stilled, cupping his jaw in one hand and the burn near his elbow in the other. He looked up into – recognition – the face of Sir Brenner, jaw set but eyes alert to Merlin's condition. A moment of understanding passed between them – _Are you… I'm all right_ – before they both turned to see Leon release Arrok.

The movement was so violent, the younger knight sprawled on the forest floor unbalanced for a moment before popping to his feet, fists clenched as he faced the patrol captain without a hint of remorse. "I caught him!" he declared. "He was meeting covertly with established enemies of Camelot. Clearly betraying the king, as his kind always do and always will!"

Every eye was on Merlin. He said swiftly, "The druids contacted me with a warning about a thief, that was all. They anticipate peace under Arthur's rule, not hostility."

Arrok snorted in derision. Leon gave the knife he'd taken from the knight a flip; Merlin saw that the senior warrior had also retrieved Arrok's sword. "So you didn't bother to find out what they were saying, you simply assumed and attacked an unarmed man?"

"Druids are magic and magic is evil," Arrok said stubbornly. "And _he's_ obviously not unarmed! I'm lucky to be alive – Brenner, you saw what he did to that questioner!"

"After a day and a half of torture," Brenner said, quietly neutral.

"And what makes you think he'd use magic against you anyway," Leon demanded, "a knight of his king?"

"His king," Arrok sneered – but Merlin thought, hoped, that he wasn't gaining any sympathy from the other knights, observing. "They'll all turn on us, sooner or later. Curses and enchantments and unnatural deaths."

"And you'd risk that," Leon said slowly, "to reveal a threat that the king hasn't yet seen."

Arrok drew himself up proudly. "Of course," he said. "Even if it took my life."

Merlin was sick to his stomach, his head and arm throbbed, but in that moment, he felt nothing but sorry for Arrok, who'd simply believed wholeheartedly the falsehoods that Uther in grief-blindness had spread, and now would not reconsider.

"But I'm not a threat," he said, the pain in his jaw with every movement making it hard to speak. "I'm not evil. I'm not a traitor. I would die defending Arthur, the same as you. What you hear as poison and treason – magic can be used for good – is the truth. I don't want anyone else hurt because of Uther's misunderstanding."

Brenner took the hand Merlin reached, and helped haul him awkwardly to his feet. He stumbled once – head ringing and equilibrium the slightest bit off – crossing the distance to extend his hand to Arrok.

"Arthur believes I've proved my loyalty," he said softly. "Give me the chance to prove it to you, too."

Arrok stared down at his hand a moment, nostrils furled, then spat against Merlin's palm. "You don't belong in Camelot," he said in a low voice, eyes burning as they met Merlin's. "Get out. Or sooner or later, someone's going to split that black heart of yours wide open. Purge your filthy sorcery properly with fire."

Merlin stilled in the act of wiping spittle from his skin on his trouser-leg, comprehension leaping hot and uncontrolled through him. _You set me on fire._

Arrok saw that he knew – and there was absolutely no fear in response. He was willing for Merlin to kill him, if it would prove him right and expose him for others to deal with.

"You best watch your tongue, Sir Arrok," Leon said, reaching past Merlin to shove the other knight crooked. "You raise a hand against this man, the king's friend, my friend, and your death will be an ignoble hanging for murder. Your name and reputation and years of service meaningless. Blackened in truth, as you mistakenly believe his heart. Now get on your horse."

Arrok didn't so much as hesitate, spinning on his heel to stalk in the direction of the stream, where they'd left the horses.

Leon turned to Merlin, a wrinkle of worry pinched between red-gold brows. "Be very careful," he said. "Arthur would rather deal with your magic than with your death, you know that."

Merlin shivered involuntarily, and all the muscles up his spine tightened in reaction, shooting unpleasant tingling pain in reaction to the blow to his jaw.

"Are you all right to continue?" Leon said, his gray eyes evaluating. "We're only halfway through the patrol, but we can –"

"I'll be fine," Merlin said. "Let's keep going."

Leon nodded, glanced up to catch the attention of the others, and jerked his head in wordless command. Merlin delayed, feeling slightly uncomfortable to have any of them he was less familiar with at his back, and was surprised when Brenner also waited, to fall into step with him behind the others.

"Arrok had a brother," Brenner said evenly. "Died defending Camelot fourteen months ago when the bones of the dead rose up to fight against us, in addition to the living army at the gates." Merlin gave him a swift glance of comprehension, which Brenner met dispassionately, the length of his black hair complementing a firm jaw. "His first mission, when we were new knights together, he was ordered to drop the druid children down the well where the clan had camped."

Three more steps, the bracken of the forest floor crackling beneath their boots, Merlin wondered – he had nightmares, sometimes, the things he'd had to do over the years, how did Arrok deal with – oh.

Moving away from Merlin to recover his own mount, Brenner concluded, "He had to obey."

Merlin hoped it was still possible for the stocky blonde knight to find peace. To forgive himself. Because if not…

 **A/N: So I'm back! (sorry for the delay)… This isn't done, even in rough draft, and NaNoWriMo begins in a week, so… all I can promise is my best, and that it will be finished… eventually?... Thanks for all your support and patience!**

 **Some dialogue from ep.4.4 "Aithusa".**


	9. Council and Court

**Chapter 9: Council and Court**

The greater council. The lords of land and influence and privilege, not only from Camelot, but from all the corners of the kingdom. Ranging from old Lord Rowland to Lord Maddox, perhaps a decade younger than Uther had been.

And Arthur, now, youngest of them all and their king.

He stood and watched them mingle and converse, not really trying to pick out relational nuances or guess probably topics of conversation. In memory, he could both see and hear his father, calling them to order, presiding and guiding, manipulating and forcing. Dominating.

This morning, the evaluation in comparison felt palpable, to him. Would he be Uther's son. _Could_ he be that – never as it pertained to magic, he knew that already. And he'd realized some time ago, he'd rather rule through love and respect, than fear. But for the _rest_ … the strength and certainty, the canny handling of allies and absolute intolerance of enemies…

Arthur swallowed. His throat was very dry. He'd rather volunteer for single combat, he thought. Against a giant.

"Gentlemen," he said, standing from the great chair at the head of the long table.

Waiting for realization and then silence to travel to those at the foot, he thought how much better it would be to have a round table, like that in the ruins, which the ancient kings had used. He could see everyone more clearly, and all the maneuvering and resentment over the seating arrangement would be nullified.

"Thank you all for being here, and supporting Camelot through this time of transition. King Uther will be remembered long, and I at least hope to profit from the example he left." Arthur paused and took a breath. "I am aware that one of the first decisions required of me, is the choosing of an heir apparent. In case of accident or illness. I hope no one has objections to Sir Leon fulfilling those duties, if fate so requires it."

Silence, as each man looked to his neighbor, and around the table. No one had a single word to say against Arthur's choice; he was glad of that, but hoped the rest of the day would continue in the same vein. He hoped no one intended to raise the delicate issue of his marriage, today – or if so, that he could put it quickly and quietly aside. Not today.

"We have several things to discuss today, not the least of which is, what is to be done to answer the heinous act of assassination committed against our former king."

Sir Kay was present to testify what the performers had said of the two that had joined them in Whenham. Sir Bors was called to give the account of the trip there and the evidence that Odin had funded the attempt – on _Arthur's_ life, Agravaine pointed out the distinction, resulting in Uther's death only when he unexpectedly intervened.

Arthur tried to suppress the guilt, as one proposal interrupted another, what if anything should be done. He turned to Geoffrey, who sat three seats down from him on his left – and who anticipated his request, selecting and handing him the longest scroll on the table in front of him. Arthur untied the ribbon and unrolled the map; the nearest councilman sat back – and once again, a round table would mean that everyone could see better.

"Raiding across our northern borders from Odin's kingdom has long been a problem," Arthur said. "This last year it's gotten worse, and I believe I can tell you why. If you look at the terrain, here, south of the mountains, you'll see that Odin's territory is separated from that formerly held by Cenred by a relatively narrow portion of Camelot's land."

He glanced up, seeing Lord Bernard and the few other northern noblemen intent and in agreement.

"It makes sense to me that Odin would seek to add the unclaimed territory to his own, strengthening his kingdom and increasing the length of the border we share, with a view toward striking to our heart again."

"What do you suggest?" Lord Bernard said.

"My father wanted levies raised," Arthur said, clearing his throat of the lump that again threatened at the memory of his last night with his father. "I am aware that was a measure favored by the lesser council – but I still don't believe that is a necessary burden for our people to bear. Yet. If we can strengthen outlying defenses and protect the northern border where it's vulnerable with resources we already possess, through the rest of this year…"

Two of the local lords questioned the specificity of those resources, redirected from what allocation that would suffer. Lord Bernard's neighbor raised protest about inefficiency and Lord Urbert bleated about temporary measures and future prevention and what about retaliation.

"Odin has no heir," Arthur said, and the table fell silent. "He has no relation younger than himself by more than a decade, and can anyone corroborate the memory I have, of hearing how difficult it was for him to sire his only son?"

Also a faint pang of distant and remembered regret, for the prince he'd killed when challenged. Was this what it was to be king? he wondered. Constant reminders of loss and mistake to challenge the courage with which one decided the present and faced the future?

But several of the men were nodding. "It is not rich land that he holds, but isolated," Arthur added. "He cannot afford to keep losing the men he pays for assassination, nor for it to become widely known. I propose we cut him off from Cenred's land – and begin to reclaim that, whenever and wherever possible. I propose we request Nemeth, with our fullest support, to make Odin's foreign trade a thing of hardship in the south. And I propose that we publish our knowledge of Odin's deeds abroad as part of the correspondence that I will open as king, with the other rulers of our land."

Then of course they had to argue about that.

Arthur listened for a while, divided in his mind about whether he should allow it – his father never had, but he himself was inexperienced and truly felt he needed input from those older and wiser. If it made him look weak to allow it, or it if would make him look boorish to demand silence and acceptance of a flawed plan.

"I would like to ask His Majesty," Lord Bernard called out, personality and voice enough to quell the rest and gain him the room's attention, "if other items on his agenda for today's meeting have bearing on these plans."

Arthur kept his eyebrows from lifting with an effort. As part of the greater council, and less often in Camelot, he was not as familiar with Lord Bernard of Descalot as others. The older man – if he'd actually anticipated Arthur's intentions – was very sharp.

"Beg pardon?" he said only. If Bernard was willing to voice it, it might be better received, actually.

"These resources you allude to for border protection," Bernard said. "The basis for your supposition that Nemeth will constrict Odin's trade routes upon our request." He paused, the intensity of his eyes heightened by his narrow face and thin nose. "Magic, Arthur. Yes? Your young Merlin could hold as much of the border as he could see quite comfortably by himself, I imagine. And Nemeth, whose contention with Camelot over the region including Gedref has its roots in that question also, will be considerably calmed to hear that our young king takes a more moderate view of the esoteric mysteries than his father did."

Arthur smiled.

This time, there was no pandemonium. Only dead silence. Punctuated by occasional shocked-succinct rhetoric, by one or another.

"How will the people react to the ban lifted?"

"What will those with magic do, those in hiding or exile?"

"What of the druids?"

Arthur said, "I do not intend any major changes, revision or revocation." He leaned on his hands, looking from one to the next. " _Yet_. I don't imagine I can command peace or trust. But this I will order, and it will begin with every man in this room. No more executions for those accused of crimes relating to magic, caught on your lands, estates, and properties, or you face trial yourself – and loss of land, title, wealth, freedom." He didn't quite dare threaten them with execution themselves, it might prove too disaffecting.

"The trials of those so accused will be conducted by myself, here in Camelot, and you will be reimbursed for expenses of transportation and care, in instances when the accused is found guilty. No more bounties shall be paid out for magic-users or druids who are not guilty of other crimes, and those accused of the possession of magic or its accoutrements are to be afforded equal consideration as victims of other crimes, as everyone else."

"What of our allies? Uther's absolute stand against magic is a foundation of many of our treaties."

"Whenever a new king ascends the throne, allies are customarily invited to renew alliances and treaties and other such agreements and understandings," Geoffrey put in, looking down the table at the speaker. "Often there are changes – adjustments, concessions. I trust it won't be difficult to renegotiate with those who believe as Uther did, on the question of magic, and for those who were pressured to accede to his stringency, relations might actually be strengthened."

"They'll want to know if it's merely a ploy," Lord Rowland said, his bent spine directing his gaze to the tabletop, his hands resting in his lap. "Everyone will want to know that, Arthur, from the kings to the commoners. Is Merlin bait for yet another Pendragon trap for sorcery."

"He's not," Arthur stated, only slightly startled to have someone point out the possibility of that impression. "But I suppose only time will prove that, rather than my word alone."

"They'll want to know if you're enchanted," Lord Urbert said snidely.

Gaius snorted, and Arthur relaxed to amusement rather than irritation. "Time will tell on that also, I expect."

Discussion continued, but it seemed sedate and thoughtful, to Arthur. It occurred to him that they'd expected a wholesale allowance of magic, prompted by naïve favoritism, and were rather relieved at Arthur's cautious approach to standing law revision. For his part, he was content to know that no one else would die – not that Merlin had, but the principle stood – for having magic, or for using it innocently. Prejudice could be overcome, encouragement could be given, and someday, he could see Merlin in a chamber like Gaius', strange and wonderful and twice as large, filled with young men and women just like him, curious and earnest and loyal. Not unlike his own field of knights, maybe…

Lunch was carried in and served. Nemeth was discussed, and Mercia. Godwyn mentioned, and Alined. The tenor of reference to Merlin began to feel proprietary, to Arthur. A problem and a nuisance, as it affected the public mood and general productivity, the smooth working of all parts of society in cooperation – but _Camelot's_ problem.

It was suggested that rumors be allowed to spread, Camelot's protection included more than the cadre of well-trained knights. Or perhaps it would be wiser to keep closed-mouthed in regard to the quality actually possessed by Arthur's sorcerer.

That gave him a funny feeling. Warm and right, but still somehow jest-worthy. Arthur's sorcerer.

Geoffrey was assigned to draft correspondence to each of the foreign rulers, starting with Nemeth, subject to the council's – and Arthur's of course – acceptance. The northern lords wanted a chance to talk to Merlin before they embraced the idea of magic used even in defense, on or near their lands.

And Lord Bernard followed Arthur from the room as the meeting adjourned til the following day.

The older man took him a little by surprise as he strode along, gazing out the windows lining the gallery corridor and hoping he had time to exchange formal finery for training-field durability and join his men for at least half an hour's exercise. Weren't Gwaine and Lancelot going to invite Elyan and Percival, and see what happened? But Leon was scheduled for patrol today – with Merlin, actually – so what if that resulted in…

"My lord, a moment?"

It took Arthur half that moment to realized the address was meant for him; he turned to watch Bernard, slender and tough in tunic so dark blue it was almost black, over a creamy shirt showing at collar and cuffs, and trousers of the same finely-cut and well-sewn fabric.

"I wonder if I might speak to you privately on the subject of magic," Bernard added, coming close and gazing at Arthur as though attempting to bore a hole into his soul with his eyes.

"Of course," Arthur said. It might be good to have a chance to gauge what the northern lord _personally_ thought as well; though his comments in council were provocative, they weren't necessarily revealing.

"I wholeheartedly support your decision to consolidate the right of execution – at least in the case of accusations of magic," Bernard said. He clasped his hands behind him and inclining his head respectfully to demonstrate his willingness to follow if Arthur cared to continue walking down the gallery. After a moment of covering pleased surprise, Arthur did. "I imagine, however, that this is but the first step toward a significant overturn of your father's policies on the subject?"

"We'll see," Arthur said. "I hope so."

"I find myself impressed and heartened at such evidence of intelligence and thoughtfulness," Bernard told him. "Not that your father wasn't, of course, but many princes would either cling blindly to principles they'd been taught, or recklessly throw them all away. You've done neither…"

"Camelot is my concern," Arthur said. "Not my father's legacy or my own reputation."

"Though that also affects Camelot, does it not," Bernard observed with a narrow smile. He stopped walking at the corner and Arthur did as well, casually noting that they had both intersecting corridors to themselves. "Sire. If your aim is to identify and gather magic-users to establish and support your reign within and without your kingdom, aside from your intentions regarding Odin or other enemies, I would like to say, I would be your ally in that endeavor."

Something about the way he said it made Arthur uneasy. It made him think of Alined and his jester, the performer-of-false-magic Trickler. Chains and servitude.

"I don't intend to benefit personally from the use of trusted and judicious magic in Camelot," he said cautiously. "I believe that every person in my kingdom deserves the freedom to exercise their skills and abilities for the good of their families and communities, and if magic can be so defined and utilized, then it ought to be, without irrational prejudice."

"Well said," Bernard smiled. "But, my lord. A word of caution? Perhaps the council can be persuaded, it is in our best interests to agree and further your plans concerning magic, but what of your people? What of your knights? A king is only as strong as the loyalty of his warriors. And they have long fought against magic as a black and immutable evil."

"I trust that they will trust my leadership," Arthur said, maintaining calm to cover a pang of dread. Hadn't he worried the same thing? And discussed it with Leon. "I expect honesty from my knights, as from anyone else. Those who cannot in good conscience serve a king they don't believe in will be allowed an honorable release from their vows – though I hope that number will be small, and that they will be open to my attempts to change their minds, first."

That smile could cut armor. "You speak of the tactic of including Merlin in the knights' patrols? Forced familiarity with someone who hid and lied and deceived them all for years? What if that number is larger than you expect, and what if they decide that their vows to your father yet hold? What if service to Camelot means another king, in their minds?"

"Is this treason you speak, Lord Descalot," Arthur said evenly.

The older man bowed slightly in a show of respect. "Not at all. I only mean to propose that you consider moving forward with your plans concerning magic, without the example of your former manservant. Perhaps if he was not involved – maybe not in the kingdom at all – people would find it easier to begin anew on this alternate course you've set. Perhaps those could accept theoretical magic, if they're not required to countenance this specific sorcerer – a criminal escaped under circumstances startling at best, and suspicious at worst, a ghost returned from the dead, and favored of the king. How much does he influence you, with or without your knowledge?"

Arthur's rising ire was tempered by the sudden recollection that any councilman questioning the character of another, probably wished to persuade the opinion of the king himself, draw the closer and own that influence himself. And if the conversation was a ploy to move the lord closer, and Merlin further, Arthur had no better insights into Bernard's motivation than before.

He studiously ignored the idea that the older man might have had a point – or more than one – within his speech, also.

"I appreciate your input, my lord," he said, managing a smile, "your honesty and your courage. I will see you tomorrow when the council meets again."

Turning on his heel, he left Bernard behind.

The training field, definitely.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Well, it wasn't as bad as the first day, at least.

Training was still boring, in Gwaine's opinion, but he did see merit in some of it – and when he got restless with half-speed repetition and added his own spontaneous personal challenges, no one made any bother about it, anymore.

Today, maybe that was because their new young king, so lately their demanding prince-captain, was observing. Maybe it was because the lower-town blacksmith was present, separate from the field at the weapons-table, next to a commoner who was probably the biggest man there.

And Gwaine found he didn't have to break rules or push boundaries to anticipate today's training including a bit of fun.

"No, not like that," Arthur said, speaking clearly for the first time since he'd arrived, so that most of the men stepping through forms or mechanically clashing blades, paused to watch and listen.

The king moved halfway across the field, approaching one of the younger-looking knights, a man with soft brown hair and hard hands and a manner – Gwaine had already noticed – of using unrelenting brute strength rather than balance and skill and intuition.

"Your footwork is all wrong – slow and heavy. You're sleeping on your feet. Here –" Arthur glanced about – "Lancelot, show him how it's done."

Gwaine dodged a falling blow from his current opponent, letting his own sword drop, to watch. And because his partner was a knight, he declined to attack when Gwaine wasn't defending, and also stood to observe. Lancelot stepped up to Arthur, with a respectful little bow, but leaned to speak softly and privately in the king's ear – excusing himself from the demonstration as inappropriate for a commoner to a noble, Gwaine expected with disappointment.

And was glad to be wrong when his friend retreated, and Arthur raised his head to seek out the other two commoners lingering on the periphery.

"Percival!" Arthur shouted, and gave a quick peremptory gesture. The big man moved onto the field; his serious face tended to look a little obtuse – but that, Gwaine had found, was entirely misleading. "Lancelot tells me you've already got this footwork down – but I'm not so sure such a big man can also be light on his feet."

That serious face split into a boyish grin of enthusiasm; Gwaine felt his own spread.

"Another commoner, sire?" one of the older knights said, condescension edging uncomfortably close to disrespect.

"Can we of the nobility not stand a bit of competition from those common-born?" Arthur asked, turning but addressing the wider group rather than the individual who'd spoken. "Judge a man by what he does, not who he was born."

Arthur turned back to Percival, gesturing for the young knight to relinquish his weapon to the bigger man, and negligently appropriating the sword of the man's partner. The king made a single questioning sound, giving his borrowed weapon a single spin by his side; Percival nodded readiness, and Arthur attacked.

Gwaine had rarely seen the like. Arthur's technique was nearly flawless, but fluid and clever. Percival was hard-pressed to defend – but content to do so, not taking the offensive, as Gwaine might have done. And in moments, he saw why. The king's varied attacks had the bigger man on his toes, this step and that, forward and back and each flank, clearly demonstrating the point he'd been trying to make to the younger knight. At no time could Arthur take advantage of Percival's weight, and far from wearing him out, the footwork kept him agile.

There was a moment, Gwaine saw, when Arthur really did try to defeat Percival more obviously. And Percival knew it, too – and stuck to his defenses, not trying to best the king, but not letting himself lose the match, either.

But only a moment, and Arthur stepped back, flushed but satisfied, and saluted Percival as a worthy opponent – exactly as if he'd been nobility, also. Percival, surprised but mostly hiding it, gave the king a little bow.

"That was a minute, wasn't it, Bors?" Arthur called out.

"It was two, sire," Bors returned from the second row of men who ringed Arthur and Percival; Gwaine hadn't noticed him til now.

Arthur shifted his grip on the sword's hilt to pass it back to its owner, as he clapped Percival's upper arm. "Congratulations, you've passed the knights' test. Come to training from now on if you want to earn the title, someday soon."

The king moved away from Percival, striding back toward the weapons-table and Elyan leaning against it, wearing a small but very genuine smile of pleasure for their friend. Percival seemed more than a bit stunned, looking into the faces of the men around him as if he expected them all to burst out laughing at Arthur's joke.

But though some turned away with tight expressions – a few shook their heads ruefully – others gave the big commoner congratulatory whacks or grimaces, before leaving. Percival's eyes found Gwaine's, and he gave his friend a flourishing bow, laughing as Percival turned back toward Arthur.

Who had picked up a pair of heavy maces with Elyan, discussing some detail with the blacksmith, giving his weapon a demonstrative twist-and-swing, which Elyan duplicated with noticeable skill, nodding at whatever comment the king had made.

 _Your turn soon enough_ , Gwaine thought with glee. And maybe Arthur hadn't yet thought of the benefit to his lady-love, if he knighted her brother…

He faced his opponent again with a grin. "Ain't it great to have a king you can love?" he said.

The man, initially surprised at the spontaneous sentiment, smiled agreement after a moment and settled into a defensive posture in preparation to begin again. However, it was mere moments later, as they circled each other, Gwaine noticed something else that distracted his attention from a match that couldn't hold it.

Two men approached Arthur and Elyan along the edge of the field – Leon in chainmail and patrol-requisite cloak, trailed by a leaner figure with a similar drab garment draped over one arm. Merlin, and his movements and manner spoke to Gwaine of reluctance, and reminded him of his promise to Arthur, not to leave Merlin alone.

"You can find another partner, can't you, sweetheart?" he said to his opponent with mock comfort; the man made a face at him but neither disagreed nor took offense. It took Gwaine three heartbeats to slip between other sparring pairs, to reach Arthur at nearly the same time as Leon did.

"Thanks, Elyan – day after tomorrow, then?" the king said, noticing Leon but dismissing Elyan first.

The young blacksmith understood, bowing and withdrawing. Arthur caught and followed Leon's glance at Gwaine, but he didn't object, swinging back as Merlin joined them, though he lingered half behind Leon with his head down.

"The trails through Essetir are clear, sire," Leon reported. "However, I wanted to make you aware of an incident that occurred, and was handled – and that Merlin observed a druid presence in the forest."

Over Leon's shoulder, Merlin's eyes fixed on Arthur, and for a moment Gwaine thought the sorcerer wasn't sure how Arthur would react to the presence of those accepted magic-users within Camelot's borders – perhaps he himself wasn't sure that intentions all around were peaceful. Then Arthur exclaimed, stepping forward to push Leon out of their way – and Leon didn't look at all surprised, meeting Gwaine's eyes with regret in his expression.

"What happened to you?"

Arthur reached as if to touch Merlin's face, where the hollow of his left eye showed signs of swelling and discoloration, but the younger man pulled away – and in doing so, exposed a very nasty scrape-and-bruise along his jaw. Gwaine hissed, and Leon's lips pressed tightly together.

The king hesitated fractionally, before adding in a deliberately patronizing way, "Did you fall off your horse again?"

Merlin seemed to relax infinitesimally, and his mouth quirked on the side opposite the bruise on his jaw. "I haven't fallen off a horse in years, Arthur."

"What happened?" Arthur repeated, switching his gaze – sharp, it seemed to Gwaine in profile, and he wasn't about to open his mouth and draw attention – from Merlin, who obstinately refused explanation by his silence, to Leon.

"I will tell you if you order me to, sire," Leon said, facing the king squarely, "but I believe the situation has been handled for the time being, and would not improve with your knowledge of it."

For a moment Arthur stared at Leon, and Gwaine had a flash of insight – mostly because he thought he'd feel the same way, too. For many years, to have been the one _doing_ – patrolling, fighting – Arthur was now facing the situation one step removed. His duties delegated out of immediate control, and trust in his captains – though already there and strong – now also required. And, Gwaine thought, Arthur didn't like being essentially forced into that position – by his own birth, by his father's death – one bit.

But before the young king could respond, yet another interruption came racing along the side of the training field, out of breath. One of the young errand-runners of the citadel, Gwaine didn't know him but he looked familiar, and evidently both Merlin and Arthur, at least, knew who he was.

"Me da sent me!" the boy gasped to Arthur, not so much bowing as bending over to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breath. "Steward told him, someone came for an audience, but he thinks Your Majesty might wanna see him right away?"

Arthur stiffened slightly, focus shifted; Merlin looked back the way the boy had come, alarmed, as if he could somehow see who, and what the matter was. Gwaine decided he would not put it past the young sorcerer's abilities.

"Who is it?" Arthur said. When the boy straightened, the king took his shoulder to start back toward the citadel's side-gate. "Did they say what it was about?"

"Magic," the boy said, looking up into the king's face with excited enthusiasm. "Man brought a magic thing for you to look at."

Without slowing, Arthur glanced back – Merlin met his eyes and immediately moved to follow them.

Leon, however, stopped Gwaine with a hand to his chest. "Unfortunately, Sir Gwaine, your place is here," the senior knight said, not without sympathy. And added humor to Gwaine's disappointment, as he turned away, "I'm sure you'll hear all about it later."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin wasn't exactly sure how he was still upright and functioning. But then, sore and dead-tired wasn't exactly an unusual condition for him, and the word _magic_ always sent a jolt of energy rushing along his nerves.

Following Arthur through the citadel, it seemed almost like old times. And maybe the king felt the same; a certain reserve that had been between them seemed to have disappeared for a time.

Maybe if Camelot's wary focus could shift off Merlin, he could return to a quiet sort of service and that reserve could disappear for good… though Arthur was king, now. And Uther certainly had not fostered friendship with any man that Merlin was aware of – not for many years, at least.

"A threat, do you think?" Arthur tossed over his shoulder, striding so that Tobe had to trot lively to keep up. "It always is…"

"You're too young to be so pessimistic," Merlin returned, finding the cheer that usually irritated Arthur easy, in spite of his stiff neck and bruised jaw. And burned arm. "One of these days it might be someone bringing us something that is helpful and good, and magical."

Arthur only grunted, and didn't hesitate to enter the royal audience chamber – half full of the curious court who'd had the time and warning to arrive before the king.

Relinquishing his cloak to Tobe's insistent tugging, Merlin slipped to the side, behind a pillar and at the end of the row of spectators lining the wall. Gaius wasn't present, probably because the old physician was still overwhelmed with work that hadn't gotten done while the council was meeting; Gwen had been busier than usual the last week, too. Arthur shoved an impatient hand through sweat-dampened hair, for comfort rather than for appearance – but his sudden arrival seemed to startle the plainly-dressed man standing alone in the center of the room.

He looked innocuous enough, Merlin thought, scrutinizing him. Pushing forty maybe, the stranger had a broad unintelligent face under unshaven chin and mousy brown hair. He wore two shirts, a bleached outer garment over a red beneath, and had cut slits into his cloak for his arms, to keep the fabric close but loose. Watching Arthur, he shifted uncertainly on his feet and squeezed his hands together.

Arthur flopped down in the room's sole piece of furniture, the great chair that was not quite a throne – but certainly symbolized the king's power, as the only person able to sit down. Merlin envied him momentarily; Arthur stretched out his legs though his back was straight. "What's your name."

"Julius Borden, sire." The man ducked his head, the very picture of a cowed peasant.

"I understand you have an object of magic you wish to entrust to our care," Arthur said bluntly, and a whisper of wary curiosity spread through the crowd. Merlin was aware of more than one person glancing his way; he kept his expression neutral.

"Yes, Your Majesty." The man took a step forward, then rocked back indecisively. "That is, I was hoping there might be a reward of some kind, for its recovery…"

"We shall evaluate the potential worth of the object, and offer you fair compensation." Arthur gestured imperiously, flipping his fingers as he did when Merlin was too slow to hand him something.

Borden reached between his two shirts and withdrew something wrapped in a drab cloth, flat and about hand-size, with fingers spread. The crowd held its breath and swayed forward; Merlin took two more steps to keep a clear line of sight. Just in case.

The object the man revealed was golden, two slender spirals conjoined in a partial-symbol Merlin had seen before. One of the druids' customary tattoos.

He was moving before he thought, as Borden offered it to Arthur – and startled the king more than the stranger, with his appearance. The object was magically inert, as far as he could tell, so Merlin simply stood at Arthur's right hand, and let the king decide.

One heartbeat only, of hesitation. Of meeting the king's eyes and all the meaning and significance in the world passing between them in that one moment – what it meant for a king to have a sorcerer in the court - before Arthur withdrew his hand, nodding at Merlin to take it in a gesture at once permission and command.

Still, he was careful not to touch the gold, but cradled it in the piece of cloth. It was not very heavy - gold inlay, then, and Borden probably anticipated a reward more lucrative than simply melting the gold down. Though maybe he feared trying that with an object of unknown magic… There seemed to be a piece missing, but both spirals were engraved with tiny runes – he couldn't read them, but he did recognize them.

 _We have recently been robbed of a precious object…_

"This is a druid tongue," he told Arthur, just as aware as his friend of their audience. Perhaps now wasn't the time to accuse the man of theft, or to mention the presence of druids performing magic in the forest outside town, so publicly. "Where did you get this."

Borden twitched obsequiously, his attention on Arthur. "I buy and sell curiosities. I travel around, I hear things…"

"Do you know what this is, or what it does?" Arthur asked, standing from his seat to rub shoulders with Merlin, peering at the piece. Merlin reassured him wordlessly, offering it to his hold.

"It is two-thirds of the triskelion of Ashkenar," Borden simpered, and Arthur touched the stub at the gap, hiding his own reaction so well Merlin couldn't tell the stranger's words meant anything to his friend. "I'm told the runes can guide the bearer to his tomb."

 _Tomb – trap – key –_

"I remember my father talk of such a tomb," Arthur said, lifting his head to gaze blindly into the open air.

Now Merlin worried he had forgotten the others present in the room, and the complication of their knowledge, and rumors spreading. Only until Arthur continued, and then Merlin forgot them also.

"It contained a dragon's egg."

 _Oh, glory_. Merlin inhaled so sharply that Arthur looked at him, though the sound might have been lost to the others in the room.

"It has been said," Borden responded, with a very strange smile.

Arthur ordered, "Clear the court."

 **A/N: Maybe one more before November, if we're lucky. After that, I have the material for 2-3 more chapters, maybe, it'll just be a question of getting time to edit, etc. I'll try for one a week, at least, while I'm writing my NaNo original… and if not, I have a few short stories I might put up instead.**

 **Dialogue from ep.4.4 "Aithusa". Figure on this for several more chapters, til we divert more emphatically from canon…**


	10. News of a Dragon

**Chapter 10: News of a Dragon**

Arthur thought for only a moment. Perhaps it would have been better to speak to the man in private from the start, but the rumors of magic would have spread regardless, and he didn't like to give the impression of hiding, so quickly. However, _dragons_ was a significant detail – and this was a discussion he did not want public.

"Clear the court," he ordered.

That would get rid of everyone but the council members present – only Agravaine, as he glanced around, and Gaius just entering the door – leaving Leon and Merlin, also.

"Sire?" Borden prompted, uncertain and obsequious.

"You'll be given a meal and a night's lodging," Arthur said, catching Leon's eye; the knight nodded, understanding. "Tomorrow we'll be better prepared to offer you a reward worthy of the value of this object."

Borden was disappointed, but only bowed, drawing his strangely-cut cloak about him, then turned to follow the crowd – and Leon – out the door. Arthur delayed the necessarily conversation, standing silently with Merlin – who was no longer joking about a magical item that was useful and benevolent – as Agravaine approached them, and Gaius waited at the door for the stream of courtiers and servants exiting to end. The old physician drew himself up, however, as the stranger passed him, as stern and forbidding as he ever was, and Borden paused, glancing back toward Arthur and Merlin with a look half beseeching, half defiant.

"Men can change, Gaius," he said, quite clearly. "Please remember, men can change."

Leon gestured, and Borden followed, and Gaius watched them out of sight, til the guards pulled the doors closed again, his two habitual bodyguards to the inside.

"What was that about?" Arthur said aloud, as Gaius turned to join them.

"Julius Borden," Gaius said, though he hadn't been present for the man's introduction. "He was a pupil of mine, years ago. Not a man to be trusted."

Agravaine snorted inelegantly, gaze disdainful on Merlin, who didn't look up at the obvious and unflattering comparison.

"Why not?" Arthur said, letting his fingers close the cloth around the incomplete triskelion and drop it slightly.

"Twenty-five years ago, I lost my assistant."

The old man paused, and Arthur heard the word he hadn't said. _Purge_. Merlin heard it, too, looking at Gaius; Arthur caught an echo of the silent communication that passed between them. A memory that perhaps prompted the old man's connection to and protection of this young assistant.

"I was advised to replace him, but my choices were… limited. I worked with Julius Borden for only a short time before it was discovered that he was trading in – occasionally by theft – objects of magical origin, which were by then of course illegal. He barely escaped capture, and execution would have been certain to follow, when he left Camelot."

"Does it really matter how the man obtained the artifact?" Agravaine said impatiently. "We should be discussing –"

"Did he work alone?" Arthur said to Gaius. Twenty years was a long time, and all the gods knew the stupidity that young men could get into; everyone deserved a second chance, but.

"He was an opportunist, but not overly intelligent," Gaius said. "As for others who might be involved with him now, I couldn't be sure. What artifact?"

Arthur held out the object, which Gaius immediately took up to scrutinize, holding it to the room's greatest light.

"Druidic runes," Merlin mentioned softly.

"Bind runes," Gaius specified. "And in threes – that's rare… but you're missing a part of the triskelion."

"I know where that bit is," Arthur remarked, and gave a little half-smile at the attention that drew from all three. He signaled to his guards – a necessary evil, but they knew enough by now to protect him by sight and remain out of hearing. "In the vaults beneath your feet… Follow me."

Leading the way from the room and downward, Arthur contemplated the piece Gaius carried to examine along the way. If they simply locked it away, they might as well have it in one piece. If they _used_ it… What would his father have done, with this? Many objects claimed to be magical in nature lay in the vaults – a few of them claimed because Uther had sent men, even Arthur himself on occasion, to retrieve them for safety's sake. The question was whether he should lock up the key, unused, or… retrieve the dragon's egg.

The two guards stationed themselves at the foot of the stair, far distant but still in range of vision. Agravaine pushed into the barred chamber on the end behind Arthur, ostentatiously brandishing the torch that provided the light while Merlin lingered behind Gaius in the doorway.

Several small gold boxes rested crooked and dusty on various shelves; Arthur passed over two of them before finding the one he was looking for. No visible catch to the lid, but he felt delicately to the sides – a simultaneously-pressed catch released the box to open, revealing blue velvet lining and the third part of the triskelion, like a spiraled leaf or arm. Arthur lifted it out and turned back to the other three – wishing briefly that Agravaine had not been present. Oh, well – probably it was better that the council had one witness there.

Merlin stepped forward – silently, what was going on in his head – and took the piece Arthur offered, without meeting his eyes. Gaius handed the greater part to the young sorcerer in the same way – both of them ignoring Agravaine's sardonic huff - and Merlin brought the two sections together carefully, stem to stub.

The gold glowed in the vault gloom, though Merlin's eyes stayed blue, and a moment later the triskelion was a single unflawed piece. Arthur wondered unconnectedly how and why it had been split in the first place; Agravaine hissed and stepped back with a flare of the torch - and then Arthur wondered what the older man had _expected_ to happen. Merlin returned the triskelion to his mentor, taking a step back and clasping his hands behind his back in his best servant's-pose.

Arthur found that, coupled with the bruises on his friend's face, it made him feel guilty, and that irritated him.

"The triskelion of Ashkenar," Gaius pronounced – and after a glance at them, guessed, "He told you that."

"You know of it?" Arthur said. "Borden claimed this could lead someone to the tomb."

"Not only that," Gaius answered, peering at the piece and twisting it slightly. "It is also a type of key – the only way to unlock the tomb, it may be."

"You know the legend?" Agravaine pressed, addressing Gaius but sparing a wary glance for the young sorcerer. "Is there a dragon egg hidden there?"

Again, Gaius and Merlin shared a swift, unreadable glance. "It is possible, sire," Gaius said. "The wealth and wisdom of Ashkenar are without equal. But to my knowledge, no one has disturbed the tomb for more than four hundred years." Spoken with some stern warning for the silent young sorcerer – and that, Arthur thought he understood.

"No one could, though," Arthur said, "not with the key in pieces til now, right?"

"Your Majesty," Agravaine interjected, "what do you intend to do about it?"

Arthur wanted to sigh crossly and say, _I intend to think about it a good long while til I decide_. With the issue raised in open court, rumors would spread. If they didn't seek the tomb and claim whatever contents they could find, it was likely that they'd deal with thieves seeking to obtain the key and plunder the tomb for years. And the possibility that – sooner or later – someone could succeed.

"Sire," Agravaine continued, with urgency. "I have heard that a dragon's egg can live for a thousand years. Even today, it could still hatch, and another dragon can be born into this world –"

Merlin's head came up properly at that, mouth open with a sort of wondering surprise. He glanced at Gaius, who was implacable - even more briefly at Arthur, then subsided.

And why did Arthur now imagine his former manservant sneaking into his bedchamber to take his keys to the vault, claim the triskelion himself, and head off on the quest alone? That was ridiculous, Merlin wouldn't need to steal keys, he could just use magic to open the vault…

"So all your father's work to rid the world of those monsters would be undone!"

Arthur rolled his eyes at his uncle's characteristic over-reaction. A single dragon, and young…

Merlin spoke clearly then, cutting off Arthur's thoughts. "They're not monsters."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Agravaine snapped, "but it hasn't been two years since the last dragon tried to destroy Camelot's citadel!"

"I remember," Merlin returned; Arthur had the impression of cold fury slowly building. "I was here."

"If you destroy the key, the tomb could remain closed," Gaius offered to Arthur, in the tones of a moderator. "And the egg would be completely safe."

"Safe from us, or we from it?" Merlin said abruptly, turning his inexplicable emotion on the old man. " _Unhatched_. You want the egg to remain lost forever?"

"It has lain untouched for more than four hundred years," Gaius told him with asperity. "It is my belief that it should remain that way."

Merlin drew back silently as if the old man had pushed him.

"Can it be destroyed?" Agravaine interrupted, blind to the tension between the two – and on the whole, Arthur thought that best. "No, sire, you must retrieve the egg – it is what your father would have wanted – and make sure _that_ is destroyed."

"Never!" Merlin declared to the lord's face, with a fierce and sudden resolve Arthur had rarely seen; it somehow emphasized his height and the breadth of his shoulders under his peasant's blue shirt.

"All right, that's enough," Arthur said.

He took the triskelion from Merlin's reluctant hands – it seemed to lose a shade of luster, though he was sure that was his imagination – but the velvet-lined gold box was too small now for the whole piece. He hesitated to lay it bare on the shelf, but didn't immediately see a good place for it. "Uncle, thank you for your input – you will hear my decision tomorrow morning in court."

Agravaine knew a dismissal when he heard it. He managed to glare at Merlin and bow to Arthur at once, then turned to sweep from the chamber, leaving the torch in a sconce on the wall before disappearing down the row of vaults, back toward the upward stair.

After a moment of awkward silence – Gaius and Merlin having a whole unspoken conversation, and Arthur uninformed – he remarked, "If this is what it takes to get a minute to talk to you, perhaps I should offer a bounty on magical items."

"Arthur…" Reproachful, but also a touch guilty. Gaius huffed in almost-agreement, keeping his gaze sternly on the young sorcerer, who gave the old man a self-conscious glance before continuing. "About the triskelion. I think Borden stole the larger piece – or one of the pieces, if it was in thirds – from the druids. It was Iseldir I spoke to earlier today, he said a key had been stolen from them… but it was also a trap."

He hummed thoughtfully. "Perhaps Borden could tell us more – or if he is a thief as you say, perhaps his only thought is for the reward I might give."

"His motivation in this matter is unclear," Gaius said. "Though usually selfish, as I have known him. As a young man he was prone to dishonesty – who knows what path he is on now?"

"Do you think it would do any good if you spoke to him?" Arthur asked. "Maybe he would reveal more to an old acquaintance."

Gaius drew himself up with an air of preparing to leave, and the intention of obedience. "It may be that he would reveal the least to me, of anyone, but I will speak to him."

The old physician looked at Merlin without gaining a response, then glanced at Arthur from beneath thick white brows. Neither of them moved, and his shoulders moved in a shrug or a sigh before he wordlessly followed Agravaine, leaving the two of them alone in the vault.

"If it's there, we must retrieve the egg." Merlin spoke to the floor, hands still clasped behind him, but the words jumped out like he'd just been waiting for that moment when no one else could hear.

Arthur had expected more objectivity, honestly – more caution or even wariness from his friend and sorcerer, that seemed habitual for him.

He turned to pace the length of the vault slowly, along one shelf and leaving a table bearing two large ornate vases between them. Bad enough for a well-meaning peasant to show up with an object of magic to drop in his lap at this point – barely a fortnight into his reign, balancing the person of Merlin against the fact of the ban. But to add thievery and the complication of druids – victims or lawbreakers? – and dragons…

Of course it was a trap.

Leave it alone, or spring it?... and how to do that safely?

Figure out what the person orchestrating it wanted, then do… something else, just on principle? or do the right thing, even if it was a trap? and what, for the love of Camelot, was that?

"Must?" he said softly, inviting Merlin's opinion – even though he knew now, how it was biased.

"This is a chance in a thousand, Arthur," Merlin said, softly but earnestly, taking a half-step toward him, leaning against the table and gripping its edge with his fingers.

Arthur reached the end of the vault and turned. "A chance for what?"

Faint line of puzzlement between Merlin's black brows. "For the dragons. To… continue. To survive."

"Why do you think they should?" Arthur asked. "You remember the destruction wrought by the last one before we –" a mutinous expression tightened Merlin's eyes and lips and Arthur amended – "fine, before _you_ killed it."

"This one is still in the egg, it hasn't done anything wrong –"

"Yet," Arthur pointed out.

"It deserves the chance at life, doesn't it?"

"The chance to wreak destruction of its own," Arthur said, and continued over Merlin's protest. "You can't bring it here and raise it like a pet, everyone remembers and considers dragons just another evil of magic –"

"Perhaps we could change their minds and –"

"Nobody trusts you yet!" Arthur raised his voice, recognizing that he was taking his irritation out on the person who least deserved it, but who nonetheless remained the object of his frustration. "You think they're going to take your word for it that a cute little baby dragon won't grow up to set their homes and fields on fire and steal their livestock and children?"

"They don't do that –"

"And what about our neighbors, did you never stop to think of them?" Arthur said. "What any of them will do to find out we've got an egg – never mind the live creature? Odin, or Bayard, Caerleon or Olaf or Alined?"

Merlin drew back, just slightly, as if he hadn't considered the wider question yet – but if anything, grew more determined.

"I understand the dangers in leaving the tomb alone and trying to protect the key here," Arthur said, stepping back along the space between shelf and table. "I also understand that claiming it to bring back here and… smash it publicly, would significantly confuse the issue of where I stand on the subject of magic, but –"

"Not everything is about _you_ , Arthur," Merlin said in a low voice. "It is my sacred duty to protect the last of the dragons, and I will do everything in my power to rescue it."

Arthur stood still, cold at the sudden thought that it wasn't his decision to make. Not if Merlin had already decided upon a course of action, because the young sorcerer could and would accomplish his own will, no matter what order came out of Arthur's mouth. And when Merlin had been only an impertinent manservant to a prince, Arthur would have rolled his eyes and ignored it. But now, he was king. And Merlin a confirmed sorcerer, when magic was still illegal.

He saw that Merlin's fingertips just brushed the outer curves of the golden triskelion lying on the table, and experienced an impression he hadn't had for months.

That he didn't know the other young man as well as he thought he did.

Three prowling steps brought him face to face with Merlin, where he could read each minor shift of look, each change in expressive blue eyes that met his squarely, if apprehensively.

"No matter what?" he said softly.

"Arthur, Camelot is yours," Merlin said swiftly, emphatically. "I don't want to make your decisions for you, regarding the kingdom, I don't want to tell you what to do-"

"Sure you do," Arthur said, cutting him off. "You want to make sure magic returns, don't you? No matter how long it takes or how difficult it is?"

"Because that's the right thing, not because it benefits me personally," Merlin argued, frowning. "I'd say the same even if I didn't have magic. But the dragons – that's sort of my kingdom, Arthur, I wish you could understand."

He tried, he really did. "Merlin, if this is because you feel guilty about what happened with the last dragon, letting it loose and then having to kill it to prevent more damage and death –"

"The dragon's not dead," Merlin blurted, his eyes a bit panicky but the rest of him determined. Quite like how he'd faced Agravaine, disputing the term _monster_.

It occurred to Arthur, Merlin had never done the same to him, since Arthur had known of his magic. He remembered how Merlin had taken a swing at him, in the corridor the audience chamber, after the witchfinder had coerced Gaius' false confession. And that reminded him of rescuing his servant from the bounty hunter – and realizing, Merlin had been stealing his breakfast. It reminded him of how often, in the past, Merlin had the loosest of acquaintances with the truth.

"What," he said flatly. "You told me I dealt it a mortal blow."

"Not quite mortal." Merlin avoided his eyes again.

"You lied." Nothing new, and nothing Arthur had _felt_ , particularly, because mostly he understood the reasons for Merlin's deception – protecting secrecy and life, as long as he was determined to remain in Camelot and protect Arthur. But this… felt different.

 _All sorcerers are liars_ , Urbert had said in council. And Rowland had countered, _Would you lie to save your life, would you lie to save your family_ … But neither of those conditions applied to the situation, anymore.

He realized, "How did you know it wasn't a mortal blow. You've seen it since then?" _Yes_ , was written all over the younger man. " _Talked_ to it?" Arthur pushed incredulously.

"Him," Merlin corrected, quietly but defiantly.

"Dammit, Merlin!" Arthur swung away from him to stomp around the vault, wishing now they were in his room – more space and things he could actually throw without ruining something costly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You'd have wanted to go after him," Merlin defended. "Or your father would have ordered –"

"With good reason! Merlin… you can't keep things like this to yourself anymore! As king, I have the responsibility to defend my people against any threat that might come, I need to know things like, _the dragon is still alive_!"

Triple damn. If the council knew this – wouldn't they have to, eventually? – trust would go from shaky to downright unstable, and not only for Merlin. What would happen if there was a public outcry and the council united to demand a hunt to kill the dragon – and then Merlin stood against them? Infighting – even the bloodless, council-room kind – would weaken Camelot before enemies like Odin, and then…

"He's not a threat," Merlin said quietly. "He's my friend. My… kin."

"Is that what it told you," Arthur spat. "Hells, Merlin, you're so – simple-minded, sometimes!"

He spun away and paced furiously, having to turn and face the sorcerer again, sooner than he was ready for. Buried under the new and unfamiliar and uncertain weight of responsibility for a kingdom facing conflict both within and without, and frustratingly helpless to _do_ anything about it. Placating the council hindered him on one hand, and Merlin's ability and inclination to disobey on the other, and he was sick to death of all of it.

"You're going to go anyway," Arthur said aloud. "If I locked up this key, you'd steal it. If I ordered you to stay, if I locked you up in a cell to keep you here, you'd escape."

Merlin didn't say anything, he didn't have to. His expession – and his reaction to the extremity of Arthur's suggestions – spoke volumes.

"Fine," Arthur said bitterly. He curled his fingers angrily and tightly through the triskelion's spirals, to shove it hard enough into Merlin's chest to make him take a step back. "Just – have a word with Gaius before you go. If we can duplicate whatever's been keeping the egg from hatching all these years, we need to start with that. Because if it hatches – do not bring it back to my kingdom or I will have to kill it."

Merlin didn't argue or protest or mock or wheedle. Only looked at Arthur and cradled the druid's artifact against his chest.

And when he turned to go, it occurred to Arthur that he'd finally found the edge of Merlin's loyalty.

He wondered if Merlin would return at all this time, egg or no egg.

Traitor memory whispered Bernard's words, _Perhaps if he was not involved – maybe not in the kingdom at all – people would find it easier to begin anew on this alternate course you've set._

Alone, under the citadel and people of Camelot, Arthur felt duty as an oppressive physical thing. An unbearable thing, and none to help – that distance between king and _everyone_ , was an unfathomable gulf…

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin buckled the last strap of his mare's saddle, then paused to lean shoulder and forehead against the warm solid horse-scented muscle.

 _He didn't run me through_ , he reminded himself, as he had done last year – but it failed to bolster his spirits, as it had done, then. _He doesn't understand_ , was little better. Arthur angry wasn't going to listen to Merlin's explanations and excuses, and Merlin wasn't going to reveal the soul-wound of his own father's death and everything it meant, to an angry Arthur. He'd say things he didn't mean, and be sorry for them later, when neither could forget.

But last year, he'd clung stubbornly to the idea that he couldn't leave Arthur, or Camelot, while the prince still didn't understand, magic or him. And now here he was, saddled and provisioned to do just that, not knowing –

"What are you doing out here?"

Merlin straightened away from his mare, looking over the front of the gate, ajar to let the lamplight into the stall – and he and his mount out, in a moment. Gwaine, still in chainmail but without the red cape, hung one arm over the stall-door, and studied him.

He thought his friend could guess on his own – probably had already – but said anyway, "I'm leaving."

"Already?" Gwaine said, sounding surprised and disappointed at once. "Hold on…"

He pushed away from Merlin's stall door, causing it to swing shut and latch, then crossed the walkway between the rows of stalls in the stable. Arthur had appointed this unclaimed corner for their use, for the horses Gwaine had won last year; Gwaine didn't hesitate to haul his own saddle off its peg, and bumped open the gate of the opposite stall with his shoulder.

Trailing reins so the mare would follow, Merlin moved to unlatch their stall again and let them both out, watching Gwaine saddle his gelding. Knowing what his friend was doing, resisting the implications of that because Gwaine also knew what he was doing, he kept silent on protests because it comforted him – now as then – not to be alone as he left Arthur's side for a tumultuous present and an uncertain future.

"Is this an official departure?" Gwaine asked; his gelding grunted placidly as he yanked the girth tight and flipped the stirrup back down. Merlin, frustrated over the ambiguity which was partly – though not entirely – his fault, kicked at the loose hay in the center aisle. Gwaine added, "Is it permanent?"

"Yes – no – I don't know!"

Gwaine led his horse from the stall, checked that both gates were properly latched, then walked with Merlin, leading their mounts – from the stables, across the torchlit courtyard, through the passage to the lower town. And out.

As they walked, Merlin told him – not everything, but enough. The druid visitation, Borden's past and questionable present, the triskelion that now resided in Merlin's saddlebags, the egg that couldn't be left in its premature tomb but seemed to have no place in the world to welcome it – just like Merlin, maybe. He told Gwaine of the great dragon, and why Arthur felt such antipathy toward it – and Merlin caught in the middle.

Gwaine listened quietly, with an occasional sound of agreement or understanding, an abortive phrase that coaxed another long sentence or several, out of Merlin. And when he finally finished, needing to use the waterskin tied to his saddle, and feeling exhausted, Gwaine spoke slowly.

"I'm guessing… there's more to the story of Merlin and the dragon, than just trading information, or the responsibility of an ally, or even… magic calls to magic. Am I right? Something more than Arthur knows, but you haven't told him?"

Merlin scuffed at the packed earth of the track, nearly invisible in the darkness though the moon was high, because of the close old oaks that rose tall and thick above them. "Yeah…"

 _I am a dragonlord._

 _I am the last dragonlord because my father died. My father died because he was defending me, because I hid my magic from a prince I believed in, but didn't understand. Because I kept a promise, but couldn't gain one in return._

And nothing much had changed, had it? Here he was, still doing the same.

"Is nothing going to change?" he said, quietly desperate, feeling emotion clog and scratch at his throat. "Everything, and nothing."

"Hm," Gwaine said, invisible in the darkness, but sounding wryly sympathetic. "You do realize, you and I just walked right out of the citadel and through the lower town, free as birds and unbothered – no warning bells rung, no attempted arrests? You've been patient for years, Merlin…"

He heard what Gwaine didn't say. _Don't give up now._

 _Oh, don't walk_ away _._

"It feels," he began, slowly and awkwardly, "like what I've been patient for, I've already got. It's already done – Arthur has lived to be king, and he's set to judge magic fairly."

 _The land stirs in anticipation of change, something more than spring. We walk hidden in this kingdom, yet – but not for long, I think, til it is Arthur's and we may truly fear nothing…_ It was more complicated, having his friend as king, now. Deciding what to tell him – what not to, and why, and for how long, and how he'd take it when he finally found out. Having to explain his magic and choices to the highest authority, not just a comrade also serving a sovereign, from whom they both kept a shared secret, for matching reasons.

And yet, it should also feel safer, at times, to be able to say, _what do you think_ , to Arthur. His friend, another young man who understood responsibility and authority and destiny.

If only he understood dragons, too…

"All the rest… I'm tired, Gwaine, and I have a royal headache, and I can't see that I'm doing anyone any good. All my friends have a harder time, trying to defend magic –" _me_ – "to everyone who still hates it, because it all comes out when I'm there, in hate and violence. And for me… I'm not Arthur's servant, I'm not Gaius' assistant, I'm just – a _clumsy fool_."

He ignored his friend's sound of protest. "And now with this egg. It makes me wonder, if I've got another task in front of me, than Arthur and Camelot. If I shouldn't take it somewhere and raise and protect it." Destiny, born the son of his father, just the same as he was born to be the druids' Emrys. Maybe that part of his life was over, and another beginning.

"You'd choose the dragon over Arthur?" Gwaine said, surprised.

"It's… not like that."

Hells, if it ever came down to a stark choice, one life or the other, but not both… Yes, he'd already lost those he loved in service to his prince, but the thought of the death of a dragon, the unknown baby or crusty old Kilgarrah, left him cold and sick inside. But _Arthur_ … it was unthinkable.

"Arthur doesn't need me anymore, and this new dragon does," he tried to explain.

"I think I would argue, Arthur's always going to need you, whether he expresses that adequately, or not. But another question is, what do _you_ need? You'd be happy holed up in some tiny cave, hiding your ever-growing pet from the locals and fighting off everyone who came against you by yourself?"

Merlin stopped still on the dark track, his mare bumping and nudging til she calmly accepted the halt; it took Gwaine a couple more steps to realize.

The memory of his father's cave was clear and bleak – the suspicion and disinclination to help others that had become Balinor's character, whatever he'd been when young and in love with Merlin's mother.

 _I don't want to be alone._

"Let's stop here for the night," Gwaine proposed, sympathetic in a practical way, to Merlin's dilemma.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Gwaine sat a stone's throw from the track through the forest, watching the air and sky lighten toward dawn. Watching his young friend sleep, curled under and against a nearby tree. Pale and still, as he hadn't been since the earliest days of their comradeship, loyal hidden outlaws.

He remembered thinking how Merlin's whole life had changed, to leave Camelot then – friends and work left behind. It troubled him more than he could have explained, to think of Merlin _choosing_ to do the same, again. Though he did understand – partly, at least – his young friend's choice. Wasn't it his, also? To decide, Arthur didn't need him as much as this lone creature of magic. Something about Gwaine's joke of living alone in a cave had bothered Merlin, too; Gwaine decided also that Merlin wouldn't have to – at least not alone.

They'd only traveled a few hours the previous night, as twilight deepened and thickened to true dark, and they passed beyond familiarity on the track. So as dawn glimmered, glinted, and shone through the eastern trees, and Merlin didn't wake, Gwaine waited.

And wasn't really surprised to detect the approach of several horses down the track, coming at a quick walk. He pushed to his feet, squinting through the trees – recognized Lancelot and guessed what three riders off the patrol schedule meant. His shrilled whistle alerted them – and woke Merlin, who reacted with the abrupt wariness more characteristic of him during their time as fugitives.

"How much do you want to bet me," Gwaine said, as Merlin scrambled his way to clear remembrance of the situation, and his feet, "that Arthur sent you a guard for your quest?"

Merlin didn't say anything, or smile, but he caught the trailing reins of his mount to follow Gwaine to the road.

Lancelot was the second rider; Gwaine was almost as surprised to recognize Bors as the lead, as he was to see Percival on the third horse. And chainmail belted over his tunic – both with sleeves removed to accommodate his large muscular frame and its required range of movement.

"They found armor that fit," Gwaine greeted him, coming up to the track while the other three waited. "Morning, Lancelot. Sir Bors… Am I in trouble?"

An even toss, he thought; Merlin left with Arthur's knowledge, but _he'd_ essentially deserted, if the king cared to make it an issue. He found he did hope, Arthur understood and wasn't offended. It might be – and he very lucky if so – that Arthur would think less of him for conforming to rank and rules, instead of the bonds of loyalty in friendship.

"My presence here," Bors rasped unemotionally, "means your presence here is authorized."

"Oh, good," Gwaine said, grinning because the older knight probably knew, he didn't really care about his legal status, as much as the king's reaction.

"Glad we caught up with you," Lancelot said, his eyes on Merlin. "The guards pointed out the direction you'd taken last night, but not even Arthur knew your route. We were hoping not to have to track you."

Merlin didn't answer him. Eyes on the senior knight, he spoke clearly, but respectfully, "What orders did His Majesty give you concerning the dragon's egg, Sir Bors?"

Almost the hint of a smile on that stubbly taciturn face. "Hands off the egg," he said, seemingly unperturbed at the question from the young sorcerer. "If it hatches, I'm to leave it alone unless it threatens someone's life."

"Then kill it?" Merlin said. Not quite a challenge, but close.

"I'm to prevent it hurting anyone," Bors answered, still calmly. Gwaine was pretty sure he knew the older man well enough by then, to trust that Bors would try to stop or incapacitate a juvenile attacking dragon – but probably could and would kill the creature if it became absolutely necessary. "So? I understand you've got the map…"

Merlin stood a moment longer, studying the senior knight, for all the world as if he were the one deciding whether to allow the addition to their quest, or not. Then he turned to his saddle, unbuckled one of his bags, and slipped a hand in, removing the strangest map Gwaine had ever seen.

Not parchment at all, but gold, twisted into a trio of spirals that made Gwaine think of the druids.

"How do you read that?" he said.

"You don't read it," Merlin answered, but his attention was still on Bors. "You let it guide you."

For another moment it was the older knight's turn to consider the young sorcerer – and the implication that magic was necessary, though it was still illegal. Maybe not if Merlin performed it? Gwaine wasn't really sure. Then Bors made an abortive gesture, leaning over his saddlehorn.

Merlin positioned the strange piece on the tip of his forefinger, then blinked a flash of magic at it. The spirals lightened and glowed like the dawn sky, and it began to rotate on its balance. Slowed… paused.

"That way," Merlin said, pointing northeast.

Gwaine mounted his horse, as Merlin returned the strange map to his saddlebags. Then the sorcerer swung himself up atop his mount also, gathering his reins while Bors waited, seemingly content for the map-reader to serve as a guide for all of them.

"How do you know which spiral points the way?" Gwaine asked conversationally, as they left the track.

"It'll be the same one, every time," Merlin said, with a look over his shoulder to include Lancelot, Percival, and Bors. "One to lead, two to follow."

"Is it written on there, then, which is which?" Gwaine pursued. "Anyone could read it if they knew how? Would it work if one of us balanced it on a finger?"

Merlin tossed him a glance that was exasperation tempered by amusement – and understanding of Gwaine's tactics, by now. Gwaine grinned, unrepentant.

In his opinion, Bors's acceptance of magic and Merlin and commitment to help – so long as the dragonling remained unhatched, or at least peaceful – was reason to hope, and try, again.

 **A/N: I don't usually take much liberties with canon material, but we never see Borden using the triskelion in its map phase… even though he hasn't got magic, apparently, I decided to make it more magical…**


	11. Traps of the Tomb

**Chapter 11: Traps of the Tomb**

Leon said to Arthur, "They'll be fine."

His eyes on the three – two knights, and Percival as good as – Arthur nodded, but said nothing. Something about being king – and responsible for the whole kingdom, everyone and everything – made him less certain of these probabilities. Once it might have been him, reassuring his father about the outcome of a mission assigned to trusted men. Once it might have been him, riding out.

Or maybe it was, something about Merlin's absence, set him on edge. Now that he knew his friend; now that he already once thought he'd lost him.

Now that he had to wonder, whether he'd lost him again.

Why in the world did Merlin categorize dragons with unicorns – rather than griffons or manticores or questing beasts? When they were so very obviously dangerous and destructive like those beasts, treacherous and manipulative? Why would Merlin protect the great dragon after it tricked him into freeing it, then betrayed him by attacking his home?

He said to Leon, "Do you wish you were going with them?"

A small smile showed on his senior knight's face. "It will definitely be a sight worth seeing, if they find the tomb."

Arthur grunted, and Leon excused himself to duties with a quiet respectful bow, leaving him alone at the top of the stairs.

But not for long. A familiar figure entered at the gate, heavy and bent in its long blue robe, embroidered panels over the breast; Gaius with his physician's case over his shoulder though Arthur suspected that was more habit than necessity for this morning's errand.

"Good morning, Your Majesty."

Arthur shifted, still watching Gaius, to bring the speaker into his field of vision. Whip-slender and hard, hands and queue tucked behind his back, Lord Bernard had come out at the top of the stair without Arthur noticing.

"It may be," he allowed, "for some."

"When good and evil are not absolute," the lord remarked with a note of irony in his voice, "complications will arise."

Arthur knew what he was saying. Magic, and the dragons. What to do, and what to say about what he was doing – in a certain sense his father's ban made these sorts of things much easier to handle.

Bernard continued, "You've sent your sorcerer to discover the truth of the tomb?"

Arthur hummed noncommittally; he planned to address the council at once – and hope to suppress discussion – and resisted treating any one member to confidential information. Even though he'd already done that with his uncle Agravaine, and Gaius who was just joining them, toiling up the stairs.

"Borden?" Arthur said only.

Gaius acknowledged Bernard with a glance, caught his breath, and answered with a sternly-raised eyebrow. "Gone. He left the Rising Sun early this morning, evidently."

Arthur wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. "So you didn't get a chance to question him about how he procured the triskelion."

"No, sire."

Bernard said, "He was given his reward, was he not? Perhaps he felt his responsibility was concluded, and timidity kept him from seeking the king's presence and further favor."

"Timidity," Gaius snorted.

"I gave him no reward," Arthur corrected Bernard, whose sharp blue-gray eyes lost none of their edge. "Only the price of a meal and a night's lodging at the Sun."

"If he did steal the triskelion, that would be reason enough for him not to stay, to risk your displeasure," Gaius suggested.

Arthur was shaking his head before the old physician finished. "He couldn't know, could he, that we'd been warned of that. And why steal it to begin with, if he's going to lose his nerve and disappear before he profits from the theft?" Why try to sell it to the king of Camelot at all, rather than… someone else. Anyone else. For the basic worth of the gold, even.

He turned abruptly to enter the citadel again, expecting the other two to follow – council meeting, after all – and wasn't wrong.

"What do you know of dragons' eggs, Gaius?" he said as they walked – quickly, keeping pace with him; he tried to slow a bit for the old man's sake.

"Not much, I'm afraid, sire," Gaius admitted.

Bernard held his tongue, stalking silent and interested at Arthur's other side; he was content with that arrangement also. "Was Agravaine right about the possibility of the egg hatching?"

"That is more legend than fact, I believe," Gaius said. "I am under the impression that any written lore or records accumulated by the dragonlords before the Purge, was lost with them."

Arthur' thought of Balinor's cave, and wondered if there were any manuscripts hidden there. It might be worth sending someone for a look, at least. Merlin his first choice – if Merlin came back. "And if it is still there, and alive within its shell somehow, what has kept it from hatching all these centuries? Some enchantment within the tomb?"

"Ah," Gaius said, slowing as they rounded the last corner before the council-room doors. "As to that. It is true that a dragon's egg is virtually indestructible. I had heard that only a dragonlord could hatch the young, and such a man did so by discovering the new dragon's name, and calling it forth in its own tongue. Its first command, you see, and could not fail to obey."

"So," Arthur said, stopping as Gaius stopped, clearly unwilling to carry the conversation inside; the old physician even glanced uneasily at Lord Bernard. "Because the last dragonlord is dead, the egg is simply unable to hatch, ever?"

What a relief. A curiosity, then, and probably a sorrow for Merlin, but obviously not a threat in and of itself, though he did wonder why Gaius hadn't said that, in the vaults. Merlin might not have been so argumentative, then, if the hatching had been a moot point. Feeling a half-smile on his face that had nothing to do with happiness or even satisfaction, he turned to enter the room, Bernard with him.

"A private word, sire?" Gaius added, unmoving. He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his blue robe. "If you please?"

"What is it?" Arthur asked, as Bernard acknowledged them respectfully, and made his own entrance into the council-room, leaving the two of them alone.

"If Balinor fathered a son," Gaius said. "He would have inherited the abilities – the responsibilities – upon his father's death. That was how the dragonlords' bond and heritage operated."

An arrow straight through the heart of Arthur's relief.

"What the hell," he said, annoyed. "How on earth can we possibly know if that man ever in his life married, or even sired children out of wedlock?" Enged was inhospitable enough; he had no hope that they would freely inform him of the gossip surrounding the man they once claimed not to know. "It could be a little child, even… though the dragon himself might know, yes?" Arthur thought quickly. "If we have the egg, then maybe Merlin could find the dragon and speak to him and ask if he…"

Gaius didn't answer. Didn't really even change his expression – but it was one Arthur had seen there before, when Arthur was trying to argue his way around some truth. Last year, about Merlin, and magic.

It reminded him, incongruously, of the look on Gwaine's face as they made camp, hours from Fyrien. _Someone you know… someone I know_.

The stone of the citadel around him blurred and dropped away and he heard Hunith's voice, also. _Merlin did meet his father, finally… close to the time your Lady Morgana went missing… he'd been living off the land, quite rough, only the basics… alone, and very bitter…_

"Heaven and holy bloody earth," he said blankly.

 _Your friend the dragonlord taught you some tricks of the trade?... You could say that._

 _He's my friend… my kin._

It was a truth almost too enormous to grasp. Uther had hunted Balinor, who had escaped – to a small town over the border, and a sweet and loving woman – and then onward to a solitary cave. And the dragon had called to a young peasant with no father, who had freed him – and gone with Arthur to the cave of a bitter man…

How bothered Merlin had been, on that trip. The truth hidden and excused as worry for their friends left behind to the creature's wrath. How disappointed Merlin had been at Balinor's initial refusal – how strange that he'd changed his mind.

Last of all, Merlin's absolute heart-break when Balinor had been killed. Defending a servant, as Arthur had thought – at once horrified and glad, internally.

 _I've withstood dragonfire_. Grass smelling green and damp with the night under Arthur's back, looking up at the stars and laughing in sheer gladness to be alive, remembering nothing of a mortal blow – not quite mortal – and Merlin bending over him, smiling for the first time that week, though it came through his tears.

"It's Merlin, isn't it," he whispered.

Gaius gave a single nod, and Arthur lifted a hand to simultaneously rub his forehead and cover his eyes.

Merlin, who'd stayed to care for Arthur the night his father had died. But had said not one word about his own loss, then or since. Still had not told Arthur, through their whole conversation – argument – about the egg. _It is my sacred duty_ … Merlin was a dragonlord. And he had lied to protect his family, after all.

Arthur huffed a bitter laugh to himself in the darkness of his eyelids. And now he was as certain as he could be, Camelot was in no danger from either beast, and never would be. And maybe the egg was not unlike magic itself – contained or imprisoned for what it _might_ do – but unjustly, and not to be borne for long.

Although, as far as anyone else was concerned – this would make it ten times harder to trust Merlin. Sorcerer and dragonlord.

If he ever came back, that is.

Arthur dropped his hand. "Does Merlin know how to hatch the egg?" he demanded of Gaius, low and urgent.

"I don't believe so."

So that was why the old man hadn't mentioned that detail in the vault last night. Arthur let out his breath, and squared himself to face the council. Then Merlin _would_ come back – and _then_ , they would decide what to do.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin had dealt with various magical artifacts before. Like the Crystal of Neahtid or the Cup of Life, powerful and potentially dangerous, but neutral. Like the phoenix-eye cuff, powerful and intrinsically malevolent.

The piece of the druids' map-and-key was quiescent, itself, with the sense of waiting patience. Made whole, however, it fairly thrummed eager anticipation for life and light and freedom.

Merlin wondered if it was his magic the triskelion responded to… or _his_ magic.

It didn't simply point in the direction of the tomb like a lodestone, it _guided_. Through the trackless wood, over the high bare moors, down narrow valleys, they never once had to back-track or find their way around some impassable feature of the landscape. And when night fell early, due to rainclouds piling up in the western sky, they found themselves in a sheltered copse of birch, unsaddling the horses and discussing placement of bedrolls and cookfire, if rain was to be expected, during the night.

Sir Bors eyed the sky, hands on his hips as the others worked, then turned so abruptly as Merlin began to pass, that he stopped instantly.

"I was told," the knight said, blunt and gruff, "that you are able to form a rain-shelter. With magic."

Merlin turned his head toward Gwaine, positioning stones for the firepit and oblivious to their conversation. "Yes…" he said uncertainly.

Sir Bors hiked his eyebrows toward his hairline expectantly. "It would not go amiss, tonight."

He stood still as the older knight turned back to preparations for meal and rest – then tipped his head to study the trees above them, already bending and swaying as the storm-winds began to rise. And smiled as he released and guided his magic, weaving the branches one by one as they moved, affixing them with smaller and more pliant ones, leaves turned and held again and again and again til a rooflike structure took shape with nary a breakage to mar or hurt a single tree. Large enough that even the horses might stay dry.

Sir Bors – the only one new to the process, or his magic at all – kept an eye on him and the trees, he was aware. When he had finished, the knight nodded to himself in satisfaction – and to Merlin in appreciation.

And after that, it was only the mounts that betrayed unsettled nerves – though Merlin at least put that down to the conditions of the storm.

In the morning, however, when the balanced triskelion on Merlin's fingertip pointed them down a wide lazy streambed to a cliff-face crumbling by slow decades down into the water, he was uncertain and inclined to be disappointed in a self-conscious way. Aware of his companions' silence and their eyes on the triple-spiraled piece tilting and stubbornly refusing to rotate.

"It's a dead end," Percival said, with the lilt of a question, though no one yanked reins to turn his mount back.

Merlin tried again. _Where_?...

 _There_ , insistently.

 _Only when the way ahead seems impossible… will you have found it_.

"What about the cave?" Merlin said.

Even as he spoke, one of the larger breaks in the cliff base where the stream water pooled, seemed to absorb and earn the description. He turned to look past his friends to the oldest and least familiar knight. Sir Bors met his questioning gaze dispassionately, then inclined his head in permission or command.

Merlin tucked the triskelion under his arm and dismounted to lead his mare forward, clopping obediently over the rocks and through the pools.

It was a cave – or rather, a tunnel. Deeper and darker than originally appearing, no sooner did daylight fade behind Percival in the rear, than Merlin could see the glow of it ahead.

And they came out above another great valley carpeted with the rolling green foliage of thick forest – surrounding a great four-sided tower rising to a point that rivaled the best of Camelot's citadel. Grey stone, windowless and even appearing seamless – some statuary or structure at the pinnacle too weathered and distant to identify.

"No wonder no one's ever found it," Gwaine remarked, emerging behind him.

And Sir Bors, stepping close enough to surprise him, as the others joined them in silent marvel, "Well done, Merlin."

They left the mounts in a small glen – though it felt to Merlin as if they were the first visitors in that four hundred years – and approached the obelisk with a caution due to the forsaken grandeur of the tower, or maybe the others caught some of Merlin's feeling. He could not stop thinking of another sorcerer's tomb – _it's a trap_ – hidden poison darts and another malevolent magical artifact waiting to steal the soul, or at least the body, of unwary intruders.

Whether the builders had designed it so, or whether the earth had eroded over the course of time from the tower's foundation, the only entry they found was an open passageway whose floor was five feet from the ground. Merlin boosted himself up first; no one protested his right to lead.

The passage was short, and turned at a right angle; Merlin paused to look back at the square of sun-drenched green and blue they were leaving behind.

"What is it?" Lancelot asked, lingering with him.

"I don't know," Merlin answered. "Just a funny feeling. Like we're being… observed."

Tested, maybe. It didn't feel dark and dangerous, like the place where Sigan's prison rested and waited, but Merlin couldn't imagine leaving a treasure unguarded – and Ashkenar had been a sorcerer as well.

The others had waited for Merlin to resume the lead at the next turn of the passageway – which again was not long. The glow of diffuse daylight reached up the sloping tunnel, up half a dozen steps, to the door at the end. Arched to a point and bound with age-blackened iron, Merlin could not see any latching device, as he climbed the stairs.

There was, however, an inset carving at face-level, an obvious match to the druids' triskelion. Or rather, he supposed, Ashkenar's triskelion. Key. Trap. He lifted the piece and settled it into place in the spiraled grooves in the door, feeling it _fuse_ magically and knowing there would be no withdrawing the symbol from the door, again.

"Think of the Fisher King," Gwaine said from behind him.

He glanced back, understanding immediately. The doorway into the old king's throne room had probably been equipped with some feature of hidden defense – though this door was closed, there was every reason to expect something similar.

Gingerly Merlin placed his fingers, felt for the direction of give, and the circular panel in which the triskelion rested, rotated. Internal latches or bolts ground within or behind the door, and when the key panel halted, the door swung open of its own accord. Outward, causing Merlin to back a step in trying to keep from touching it.

He had a moment to glimpse three stone gargoyles peering down from the inside lintel of the doorway, overhead, before – _click hiss_ – all thee gaping maws projected white mist, or fine powder, or smoke of some kind, down to fill the doorway.

"Merlin!" someone shouted.

He covered mouth and nose with the lapel of his jacket, raising his other hand defensively. The others were behind him, he couldn't simply direct whatever poisonous vapor was boiling through the air, toward them.

" _Throsm tohweorfe_!" and a gale of fresh outside air whistled past them, redirecting and dissipating the gargoyle's dangerous exhalation til the effect was finished.

It was almost too bad. He was sure Gaius would have been curious to know how such a trap was set and sprung.

"What the hell was that?" Percival asked, sounding shocked.

The more-experienced Gwaine laughed and slapped the big man's shoulder, as Merlin looked back at them – braced in various positions of climbing the steps.

"I've no idea," he admitted. "I think it's gone."

Sir Bors' face was pale granite. "You _think_?" he rasped.

"I'm almost certain…" It was good enough for Gwaine, who was closely followed by Lancelot, then Percival. "Yes, I'm sure it's safe now," Merlin added. "Pretty sure."

The oldest knight came more slowly, expressionless but studying Merlin. "I wonder," he said slowly, "if it takes more courage to make magic an enemy… or a friend."

Merlin was saved from having to respond to such a surprising statement, by a call from Gwaine. "You're going to want to see this."

The chamber was long and narrow – other possible doorways lost in the shadows thrown by window openings in the far and side walls. The ceiling was invisible in the gloom as well, but evidently supported by a twin series of white-marble columns marching down either side of the room – columns that were painted floor to out-of-sight with blue sigils that wrapped their curves. They captured Merlin's attention immediately with an inaudible hum – not of magic but of _balance_ , that reminded him of…

A message enclosed… indecipherable and enigmatic and liquid… warning or aid? he couldn't quite read the blue symbols.

Bors stood next to him beneath the gargoyles, as the other three ventured to explore carefully further. With tension in his hoarse voice, he said, "Take it and let's go."

Merlin saw it. Placed centrally so light from all three directions – how, if it was sunlight? how, in a windowless tower? – met and illumined a pedestal of the same white marble, dwarfed by its massive brothers flanking it. Atop it, what could only be the egg.

His feet moved of their own accord, down into the chamber, between the columns which vibrated with magic at his every step like plucked lyre-strings or struck crystal.

It was smaller than he expected, given Kilgarrah's size, not much bigger than a full-size melon, but instead of being circular or even oval-shaped, it was reminiscent of a teardrop, cool glowing blue like the column-sigils.

Merlin stretched out his hand – and didn't quite touch it. The magical resonance he felt throughout the room made him shiver, and he moved around the pedestal as if seeking a gap or a path…

"Why do you delay?" Bors hadn't moved two steps from their entrance, sounding impatient but trying to be polite.

Just take it. Like the heart of Cornelius Sigan – which was a trap. Who would he become when he touched it? What spirit might he release?

"I'm afraid to disturb it," he said aloud, and the soft shuffle-scuff of his friends investigating the rest of the room stilled.

"What?" Bors called back; he must not have heard Merlin properly.

He raised his head and looked away from the egg to repeat himself, thinking vaguely of asking for more time to study the room – and caught a flash of movement from the lit-square of the doorway, just out of arms'-reach of the oldest knight.

A figure. One he recognized, though the room's light shone on _him_ – Julius Borden, Gaius' assistant just as _he_ was, thief and liar – just as he was.

Come to claim the egg himself – once Merlin had sprung the tomb's traps – setting an ambush of his own?

Merlin had one second only, to recognize Borden and the weapon he carried. Crossbow, and aimed for Merlin's chest – too late, too slow –

Light exploded into shards around him. He felt something in his chest snap, though there was no impact, and then –

Darkness.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur was starting to guess, council-room strategy was not unlike battlefield strategy. He insisted – politely of course – that they finish discussing the matters of concern that had carried over from the previous session, before he allowed the new topic of dragons.

Which meant, they were in a hurry to agree, the correspondence drafted to foreign dignitaries, were all fine as they were. Nothing to add about the current situation, when they didn't know more than rumors, and didn't even know _if_ they wanted to alert allies to Ashkenar's key, when they didn't know whether it had worked.

Time enough for that later, he supposed.

Agravaine was given permission to relate the story of Borden and the key, and all attention, which he reveled in and Arthur didn't really feel the need to rein him in. Mostly he stuck to the facts – which of course Arthur knew also – and it wasn't hard to cut him off before he could start spouting his own opinion about what should be done.

"I've sent Merlin," he announced, not even straightening from his bored slouch in the chair at the head of the table. "He can use the key, he can ascertain the truth about the tomb and what it might or might not contain – and when he returns, we can discuss his findings and decide what, if anything, should be done."

"You sent Merlin," Lord Urbert said, nearly strangling on some emotion Arthur couldn't identify. Shock or outrage, he guessed.

"With several knights," he allowed, to try to console the lord. A bit.

Geoffrey, however, wore a smile of firm approval. "I knew that young man was going to prove exceptionally useful. Send someone you trust on a quest of magic, capable of handling the unexpected – or else it would be you going yourself, wouldn't it, Your Majesty."

Arthur allowed the smile. He did wish… but the timing was poor, so soon after his coronation. He did not intend to remain cooped up in the citadel forever, after all; he could be patient for his turn. Maybe when they heard tell of a useful and beneficial object of magic.

"How long," Lord Bernard said casually, "until you expect him to return?"

Arthur remembered that the northern Marcher lords were waiting to speak to Merlin about the specifics of a magical defense of their lands against Odin's incursions – and that they'd been in Camelot longer than they'd probably planned, already. He gave his head a rueful shake. "I'm sorry, my lord, I really couldn't say. No one knows how far away the tomb might be, nor of what delays the party might encounter."

"I for one," Agravaine spoke up officiously, "am willing to stay as long as it might take, if my advice proves useful for His Majesty. Anything for family, after all."

"I appreciate the sentiment, uncle," Arthur said, having to hold his smile in place with an effort. "But I really cannot justify keeping you from your own estate and concerns, any longer. In all likelihood, the egg will be nothing more than an oversize paperweight, a useless curiosity to add to our accumulation in the vaults. But," he paused, and pushed to his feet, "if a problem arises, I will be happy to call upon my greater council to assemble, once again. Thank you all for coming, and may you have safe journeys home."

Of course that wasn't the _end_ of the meeting, but… pretty nearly.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Gwaine had his back to the doorway when it happened. Dammit.

He saw it on Merlin's face – eyes widening, mouth dropping open in silent surprise, or readying to holler a warning –

And heard it. Faint, unmistakable. _Twang_.

Gwaine didn't have time to visually track the sound; his eyes were still on Merlin when he was hit. Sliver of light striking his chest - head snapping up, body tumbling back and down. Landing absolutely motionless on the stone floor of the chamber.

"Lancelot – after him!" Bors snapped.

The other knight was between Gwaine and the doorway where they'd entered; he only saw Lancelot's back as he barreled toward – through – and out. Bors was tense and unhappy, but didn't follow.

Neither did Gwaine, though he hesitated to decide. Then turned to Merlin, catching the movement of Bors doing the same.

Percival had been closest to Merlin, and was already bending over him, though Gwaine was moving before he'd completely turned from the doorway. He rushed to join the big man at the side of his first and best friend, expecting blood, expecting the shaft of an arrow, he saw –

The blank expanse of Merlin's shirt, unmarred, as Percival's big hands pushed his jacket aside.

But the young sorcerer was limply unconscious.

"What happened?" Gwaine blurted, only slightly relieved. "I thought he was shot?"

"I don't know." Percival shifted to show the long slender shaft of an arrow on the ground by his knee. Gwaine reached for it as Percival unlaced Merlin's shirt; Bors hurried up behind them. "No – don't touch it!"

Gwaine rocked back on his heels; above them the senior knight inhaled sharply.

The skin of Merlin's chest was translucent-white, but a patternless web of blue lines radiated outward from the region of his heart. Visibly moving, as Merlin did not, crawling over his shoulders like spilled ink, up his neck, around his face and into his hair.

The young sorcerer's mouth dropped open in a quiet gasp – but that was all.

"Sorcery," Sir Bors uttered, and Percival glanced up with a grim look of reluctant agreement. "Can you wake him?"

Percival took Merlin's shoulder to shake him, but he only rolled with the movement. Even a light slap to the face didn't rouse so much as a blink or involuntary wince.

Gwaine felt cold. With everything Merlin had been through and survived, he realized now he'd rather thought his young friend invincible. How wrong that was; Merlin seemed very young and vulnerable, just now. Deliberately Gwaine reached for one of the gloves he had tucked in his belt, fitted it to his hand, and reached again for the missile.

"Don't." Percival grabbed his wrist, square boyish face solemn-worried.

"Gaius might need it," Gwaine said.

His friend reconsidered, and released him. Gwaine fingered the shaft gingerly, feeling nothing but smooth wood, and held it into the light for their inspection.

There was no sharpened point; the head was padded with a small piece of leather tied around a lump of unknown substance. The carrier of whatever magic – spell or curse – had been inflicted on Merlin.

"Pick him up and bring him with us," Bors decided abruptly. "Let's leave this place – Gwaine, get the egg if you please."

Percival began to raise Merlin's body, positioning his arm over his broad shoulders. Gwaine straightened, hating the sick uncertain feeling that turned over in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to rely on Merlin in these situations, to know instinctively what should be done, and what shouldn't – go or stay, bring the arrow or keep distance from the damn thing.

Merlin should claim the egg, too. But Merlin couldn't.

Still holding the ensorcelled arrow gingerly away from himself, Gwaine stepped to the pedestal and the egg – and hesitated.

"What is it?" Bors said again, and Percival turned heavily, head bowed under Merlin's body draped awkwardly over his shoulders. Gwaine felt a pang of guilt for not _hurrying_ , but.

"He said he was afraid to disturb it," he said, gazing at the egg, blue-white and oddly shaped. "I wonder why…"

Odd, too, that the room was so empty, else. No other treasure, not even a sarcophagus for Ashkenar's body – though the tower rose high enough for fifty such chambers, above them. Why the dragon's egg on the first floor, the first chamber?

"Gwaine," Percival said quietly. "We need to get Merlin to Gaius."

Well. That was true enough.

Arrow in one hand, Gwaine wrapped his other arm around the egg to pick it up and carry it cradled securely in the crook of his elbow.

And the light went out. All at once, not like sunset or even storm-clouds gathering – all around him, he heard stone grinding on stone. Beneath his feet, the floor shuddered.

"Go!" he shouted at Percival, a dim misshapen figure in the gloom from the exit doorway. "Go, go, go!"

For several heartbeats – fast, frantic, desperate heartbeats, Gwaine was convinced that this tower was to be his tomb as well. Percival's shape – carrying Merlin – blocked the dim doorway of daylight, and Gwaine experienced a disorienting loss of perception. Like he was running backwards, maybe. Getting further away, instead of closer.

Hell – damn – couldn't catch his breath –

Then he was at the doorway, fast and unexpected, tripping down the stairs and bruising his elbows because he couldn't lose either of his burdens. Percival ahead of him kneeling to transfer Merlin's weight down from the chest-high threshold to Bors' shoulder – sweaty and red-faced and mouth opened to pant – and Gwaine jumped the five feet to the ground.

Stumbled to one knee. The ground was shaking, and inside the tomb he could heard the crash and clatter of collapse.

Percival had his elbow, dragging him to his feet and propelling him forward to follow Bors, bent nearly double under Merlin's gangly sprawling limbs, but running.

Gwaine couldn't look back. Expecting every moment that the great high obelisk would tip – and fall right on them. Several times the trees around them shook out their leaves in reaction to the immense stones crumbling from great heights –

He couldn't breathe. His lungs stuck together when he tried; his legs burned and he punished them, moving them faster though over rough ground there was danger of -

Bors tripped headlong, crashing with his burden through underbrush and a cloud of dust. Gwaine thrust egg and arrow unceremoniously at Percival, yanking Merlin off the oldest knight – lanky arm and leg, more solid body - and staggering on under his friend's weight on his own back.

Where was Lancelot?

 _C'mon, Merlin, we need you! Wake the hell up, dammit!_

The clearing where they'd left the horses was in view when the final rolling rumble of the tomb's death roared over and past them with a billow of blown dust and leaves. Gwaine unbalanced and tumbled down, trying to curl around Merlin's head and body – turning to see Percival on one knee, cradling the egg as if to shield it from falling masonry with his body. Bors was coughing uncontrollably somewhere behind Percival…

And everything settled. Gradually… stilled.

"Damn _me_ ," Bors finally rasped, straightening to his feet and staring back the way they'd come. Sweat- and dust-streaked, as Gwaine guessed they all were.

"Sorry," Gwaine managed.

"It may have done that no matter who took the egg," Percival said quietly, hoarsely – gazing down at the blue-white teardrop-shaped egg cradled in his hands.

Gwaine scooted around, yanking on Merlin's body to straighten him out – and exclaimed aloud at the sight of his friend's blue eyes – open and staring upward. "Merlin!"

Only… there was no response.

No shift in expression, no movement of trying to focus on him – or on Percival or Bors, both bending over them in an instant.

"Merlin?" Gwaine tried again, uncertainly. The blue lines had faded from his friend's skin, and his chest rose and fell, but… "Hey, can you hear me? Sit up, let's check you over for… injuries."

He tugged gently on Merlin's shoulder, and the younger man obeyed. Not rolling to get an elbow under him first, or making a single noise of pain or protest, but – bending in the middle to lift his upper body straight up. And his blue eyes vacant, fixed somewhere over Gwaine's shoulder.

It reminded him of finding Merlin sobbing on the ground, his clothing bloodied and still smoking from the escaped pyre. But even damaged, Merlin had still been _there_.

Percival tried, crouching and weaving to get into his line of vision. "Merlin?"

Not a single flicker.

"Is he awake?" Bors said uncertainly. "Can he stand and walk?"

"Merlin? Can you stand and walk? Can you hear me?" Gwaine repeated, as if his voice would make a difference - and if it sounded pleading, he didn't care.

But, nothing.

"Here," Percival said, taking hold of one of Merlin's arms – indicating that Gwaine should do the same – and they lifted the slender sorcerer to his feet. Which he kept without so much as a dizzy waver – but then stood, hands at his side, eyes fixed… somewhere far away.

"What wrong with him?" Bors said, daring to lean in and wave his hand in front of Merlin's face. There was no sign that the young sorcerer even noticed.

"I'll get the horses," Percival said, hefting the dragon's egg under his elbow, before moving away. "Gaius will know."

Gwaine avoided Bors' glance, because really – he was not so sure, either.


	12. Threads of Enchantment

**Chapter 12: Threads of Enchantment**

Three days it had been. And possibly, as many more until they returned. Barring any delaying incident, as he'd mentioned to the council, even the harmless kind of terrain or weather.

He was glad the council had decided to disperse to their own business, unless and until this situation became a crisis – or another one arose, heaven forbid – which required at least their knowledge, if not counsel. The concessions to Arthur's amendments to the purge laws. The drafting of foreign correspondence, tailored to each of the other monarchs – and preliminary preparations for diplomatic visits, at least of envoys if not the royals themselves. And all else depending on the replies which might take a week or more.

Arthur stood on the northern parapet and watched his uncle's retinue, the last of the greater council to depart the citadel, disappear on the road into the trees, and breathed a sigh of relief. He could stand the man for an occasional feast, but – how in all hells had his mother been related to such a person? As little as he knew of his mother, he would not believe they shared many characteristics at all.

The northern Marcher lords had been content to let Lord Bernard remain, to negotiate the additions to their defenses against Odin with Merlin upon his return. And Bernard was content, it seemed, to leave Descalot in the hands of his steward and his daughter.

The wind was brisk. This high, it still carried a chill edge; he shivered, having taken off both cloak and jacket to lay over the wall nearby.

Blow some of the council-room stuffiness away.

"Arthur?"

She was at his side before he'd finished turning, blouse crisp and white under her apricot-colored dress, curls pulled away from her face, but let spill down her back. She wore a smile, but her eyes held concern.

"Sir Leon told me I might find you up here…"

And his two guards stood several paces away, at the door which led inward and downward, and which lay behind the curve of the tower. Out of sight… though they had let her pass unremarked. He reached and she came to him, her body warm and soft and perfect at his side. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled, relaxing.

"You're not busy with Gaius?"

Her arms tightened at his waist. "We've just about caught up," she admitted. "With Tobe's help."

He smiled involuntarily. "That was rather a good idea."

She pushed back slightly to tip her face up and smile. "Yes, thank you – it was mine."

"What?" He pretended affront. "I'm sure I mentioned that idea to Gaius… days ago."

"And – that was the permission Orryn needed to say yes to – _my_ idea." She rose on tiptoe and nudged his chin slightly to kiss his cheek, then settled back into his embrace with a sigh. "Tobe misses him too – that boy has some very strange ideas about magic – but he'll be home soon."

He didn't have to ask who she meant. Arthur turned them both slightly, so he could see the road again without releasing her. "You think so?" he asked wistfully.

She hummed, content in her certainty, but there was so much she didn't know – like the extent of their argument over the object of the quest, days ago down in the vaults. "Have you thought what you'll do with a dragon's egg?"

"Not… really." With an unhatchable one, it didn't matter. But it wasn't his choice, was it, egg or new-born dragon.

Down the track, riders moved into view, heading for the lower town. Four of them, and there was nothing unusual above that. Except… the one in the lead wore the crimson cloak of a knight. And one was very large… and one had long hair… and the fourth was Merlin.

"He's back!" Arthur blurted, and Gwen swung around, surprised, to follow his gaze. "They're back," he amended, trying for a dignity she probably saw right through, because of the way she smiled.

"I'll see him for dinner in Gaius' chamber – Elyan and Percival will probably eat at the tavern with Gwaine, so… go on. Go meet _them_." She emphasized the word with fond sarcasm. "Go find out how their quest went."

He leaned forward to place a last kiss on her lips, before obeying with a smile. Snatching jacket and cloak and bundling them under his arm, he barely noticed his two guards falling in behind him, anymore.

Halfway down the tower stair, he remembered that Gwaine had gone with them – with Merlin, at least. Which meant that one of their number… hadn't returned.

Arthur was suddenly, not in such a hurry to hear what happened. Bors in the scarlet cloak, and Lancelot and Gwaine might be mistaken for each other at the distance – or was it one of the two newer, younger knights dressed in Camelot red, which would mean that Bors –

Rounded the corner to the bottom of the griffon stair, just as Arthur arrived at the top.

"Bors!" he said, unsure whether to feel relief, or not.

The knight glanced up, mildly startled; his eyes flickered to the two guards beside and behind Arthur in a way that made him realize, privacy was going to be important. A single abrupt signal left the two at the top of the stair, while Arthur jogged down to meet Bors, out of their earshot.

"What happened?" he demanded immediately, interrupted the knight's bow. "You've got the egg?"

"Yes, my –"

"And it didn't hatch?"

"No, sire." Bors was occupied adjusting a bulky sack slung over his shoulder – half out of sight behind his back – he lifted the flap and Arthur glimpsed a blue-white curve of shell.

"Then Merlin came back with you," he said with relief.

"In a manner of speaking…"

"What else happened? You lost a man?" Belatedly he realized his knight's last response had not been an unqualified _yes_ ; he lifted his hands to his hips and glared.

"We were ambushed at the tomb," Bors explained, gruff and succinct and unoffended at his king's impatience. "I sent Lancelot after our attacker – returning on our trail, we saw signs that the man had eluded him initially, but that he'd continued the pursuit."

Arthur took one easy breath; then it wasn't a death that reduced the party's numbers, but a temporary reassignment. "And Merlin?" Upright and in his saddle, at least.

"He was… struck by… a missile, of some magical origin," Bors admitted, reluctant for the contents of the tale, or his own responsibility to tell it. "Gwaine and Percival took him to Gaius."

Arthur was moving before the knight had finished speaking. The two guards he didn't spare a thought for, only quirked a finger to command Bors' accompaniment.

Down the stair – and a corridor – back up along a route that would take him to the physician's tower.

"How bad is it?" he demanded.

"There is no visible wound, sire – but with magic, who can say?"

Only Gaius, maybe. Arthur said grimly, "Put the egg in the audience chamber, and appoint guards for it."

"Yes, my lord." Bors separated from him at that intersection of corridors, departing to follow orders and secure the egg.

Men had died of no visible wound, Arthur knew. Blows to the head or certain areas on the body – bruising, only, sometimes it was assumed, til the person collapsed in unexpected and immediate death.

He hurried.

Not the first time either – or both – of them had been in danger, nor yet at a time when they'd had significant disagreement. But a nagging sense of truth about Bernard's words - _Perhaps if he was not involved… people would find it easier to begin anew on this alternate course you've set_ – made him irrationally afraid, circumstances would flow that way whether he liked it or not. And though it was hard to be a new king and he was frustrated with Merlin sometimes, he couldn't imagine the younger man _not_ annoying and advising him on a regular basis when they were both fifty. Merlin was Arthur's sorcerer, and he wouldn't lose him if he could help it.

He blazed into Gaius' chamber without knocking – but only Gwaine looked toward him.

From a seat on the patient's bed, beside someone who was hidden from Arthur's view by the old physician's bent back and white hair – but without a smile.

Slight peripheral movement caught his attention briefly to Percival, standing a grave sentinel in the corner of the room. But as he turned back to the central trio by the patient's bed – Gaius shifted to glance at him over his shoulder.

"Gaius?" he said without thinking – his feet moving him forward – the echo of his old friend's name sounding very young in his ears, as he'd said it so often in the past, as long as he could remember. A plea for explanation, for management. And then, because he couldn't help it, "Merlin?"

Gwaine was up from the bed, coming to Arthur with unusual and devastating dismay and regret, speaking very fast about arrows and darkness and the tomb-tower's collapse. At one point, Arthur was dimly aware, he had the offending shaft in hand from Gaius' work-table – the old man exclaimed and the new knight put it down and –

Arthur knew what it felt like. That absence of light. The collapse of the whole world around his ears – he'd felt that almost exactly a year ago, as he'd knelt on ashy cobblestones in the courtyard, gripping Merlin's damn boot-buckle.

 _They killed my friend. They took him, and I didn't even notice._

His throat tightened, and he pushed through Gwaine's hand on his chest, rounded Gaius who was speaking of the details of his examination, to reach – Merlin.

Simply sitting, gaze across the room, far away. So unusually still, Arthur hesitated. The bruises from Leon's undisclosed incident were starting to yellow, around his eye and along his jaw; his hands limply curled on his thighs hid the one shortened finger; the loose laces of his shirt might show a line or two of scarring on his chest if Arthur cared to look. He didn't.

Merlin didn't look up. Arthur stepped into his line of vision – bent – crouched… dared to touch his friend's knee. "Merlin?"

Gwaine's voice bled slowly into the silence. "…Can follow simple commands to sit or stand or walk –"

"He can hear us then?" Arthur said aloud, watching his friend's horribly passive face.

"No, he…" Gwaine paused, and maybe had to force himself to continue, "obeys light physical prompts. Not complicated ones… he climbed the stairs himself, coming here, but..."

Gaius picked it up. "He will chew and swallow, though apparently he can't feed himself. Blinks and breathes and the heartbeat is fine and steady. But it seems as though his mind… is just…"

 _Just_? Arthur couldn't quite position himself where Merlin was looking at him.

"Gone," Gwaine concluded hoarsely.

"I will research the enchantment that might have been used on him, sire," Gaius said, "day and night, you may be sure, to find a solution."

"Lancelot's tracking the bastard," Gwaine said, in a different tone that caught Arthur's attention. He looked up at his knight and saw the beginnings of a gaunt lone-wolf ferocity. "You told me. And I let you down. I let him down. If I can't do anything here, Gaius –" quick keen glance at the physician, probably a repetition because the old man didn't pause to consider, but gave his head a decisive shake. "Do I have your permission, Arthur, to join Lancelot and aid him? if I can…"

"Yeah." Arthur couldn't help another study of his young sorcerer. So calm and so… vacant. Expressionless – which was _all wrong_ , for Merlin. "Yeah. Go get him."

Gwaine whirled from the room and Arthur remembered Percival, still standing silent by the door.

"Tell my guard to have Orryn or the steward cancel the rest of my obligations today," Arthur told him. "And then, Sir Percival –" catching the big man motionless with surprise in the act of obeying, with the use of that title – "this is your sworn duty. Day and night you never leave his side. He can't protect himself, like this, and there are those in my citadel, to my shame, who would harm him, given the chance. You must see to it that there is no opportunity for that. Til we can cure this and…" he swallowed before his voice could break – "get him back."

"Yes, my lord."

The door closed behind the big man. For a moment there was silence, and Arthur was surprised to see warm golden daylight at the window, because shouldn't it be complete darkness?

Then Gaius turned to his shelves and books, and Arthur retrieved and positioned the footstool, dropping to it heavily at Merlin's right knee.

Merlin blinked, and breathed, and saw nothing that Arthur could tell. Heard nothing, so he couldn't even tell him…

"Do you think he's in pain, Gaius?" Arthur said softly.

Pause. Arthur didn't look to see what expression the old man might have been wearing.

"No. I don't believe so. I would expect other physical signs of that – quickened pulse, perspiration, so… no, I don't think he feels anything, either. Not consciously."

"When last I saw him…" Arthur cleared his throat. "I was so angry with him… And then you told me, his father… Gaius, I've been selfish. I know it, and I meant to tell him I was sorry, but…"

"I as well, sire." Heavy sigh. "He thought I should have told him of Ashkenar's tomb. He felt betrayed by my belief that the egg should remain undisturbed… You know how quick he is to forgive, though, Arthur. He always does see the best in everyone – especially you."

Arthur laughed, but had to blink hard against tears that started when it hurt his throat. "He was responsible for bringing that out, a good bit."

Gaius hummed agreement, flipping pages. Arthur reached out to take hold of Merlin's hand, cool and motionless and perfectly docile as its owner never was. _What am I supposed to do now?_

"I still need you for that, Merlin," he whispered.

 _Don't walk away…_

…..*… …..*… …*….. …..*….. …..*…..

All was dark, and still, and lonely.

He didn't feel fear, exactly. He could still breathe, though his chest was tight and heavy like he drifted several leagues below-water.

What happened?

His thoughts – memories – slipped away from him, sliding fluid as water.

He saw his friends. Places he knew. All disjointed and tumbled out of order. Defying his attempts to place and keep them.

Mother – Hunith in Ealdor. Or was it Balinor who'd raised him, teaching him herb-lore with earthen bowls in a tiny dark cave? No, that was Gaius… until he'd died accused of sorcery by the witchfinder… the questioner… Morgana? Had Arthur seen his magic from the first moment, or was he yet unaware?

What was true?

 _Hello_? Merlin thought, unable to define any sensation of movement, unable to see the slightest glimmer of light. _Where am I_?

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur sat on his bed, alone in his quarters, helplessly reliving the worst of the last two days.

Guinevere's reaction – shock and rush to Merlin's side – cradling his stiff slender form awkwardly in her arms, trying to gather him close and he passively uncooperative.

Her tears.

 _Oh, Arthur… what are we going to do?_

And Orryn and Tobe – Orryn because he'd already heard, something was wrong with Merlin.

Spread the story, injury or illness. Maybe garner some sympathy, without the fear or spite that news of _enchantment_ would bring.

 _Yes, my lord._

Tobe, because he'd been helping the old physician and waiting impatiently for Merlin's return and everyone – and no one – was surprised that the boy was captivated with the person of the young sorcerer and the idea of magic. Because they had tried to explain _injury_ or _illness_ , and Tobe had not understood or accepted, their words or the idea that he was not to enter the physician's chambers where he'd been such a help, or to see Merlin at all… so to keep him from sneaking, Orryn and Tobe.

He'd flown across the room faster even than Gwen – and avoided her trying to catch him – and nearly knocked Merlin off his seat on the edge of the patients' bed, grabbing him and holding on white-knuckled. Shaking the slight form unresisting til Arthur – and then Orryn – had reached him to pull him away.

Screaming denial, as tears ran down his face, and Gwen repositioned Merlin – totally serene – and he hated his father and he hated Arthur and he hated Merlin too… Oh, no, he didn't, he didn't mean it, wouldn't Merlin come back and say he forgave Tobe and he'd do anything…

And Orryn had tears on his face, too, carrying away a son that really was too big to be carried… but too small for such an ordeal.

And Arthur couldn't unstick his own throat enough to try to reassure the boy, it was all right, he would do whatever it took to restore Merlin…

Leon's shock and worry, covered as always by determination to do his duty, whatever that might be. The example that Arthur had been forcing himself to follow, to set aside concern for the one in continuing to care for the many people of his kingdom. And for two days, it had helped.

But tonight, his bedchamber was horribly still and quiet and lonely. Arthur was moving before he thought, finding the dark blue cloak he'd used before in sneaking about the lower town – and took his leave through the servant's antechamber, to avoid the guards at his door.

Streets nearly deserted. Calm and peaceful, still a hint of industry and comradeship, and the stars above winking contented on it all.

"Who's there?" Elyan's voice answered his knock with curiosity rather than caution, and the door swung open.

"Sorry." Arthur shuffled, embarrassed at the blacksmith's surprise to recognize the unexpected visitor, so late at night. "I just… I can't…"

Elyan grabbed his shoulder, guiding him gently inside – where Gwen sat behind a candle on their table, huddled into her shawl still fully dressed and using one corner of the wool to dab her eyes. She stood, astonished speechless as well.

And Arthur said again, awkwardly, "I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have come, but… I thought about going to him, but…" Gaius would have to sleep, no matter the pressure he put on himself to solve the catastrophe as soon as possible, and Merlin would be lying there in the position they'd placed him in, flat on his back and with hands folded over his chest, just breathing, not shuffling or grunting or sprawling…

Gwen bumped her hip on the corner of the table, trying to get to him with her arms outstretched and fresh tears beginning to track down her cheeks. He sought her comfort with shameless desperation, holding her tightly as if he was in danger of losing her too, and they both sank to the floor. And Elyan wrapped his strong arms around both of them, pressing her sobs closer to Arthur's chest, which seemed to help and hurt, at once.

"They'll do it," Elyan predicted, though his deep quiet voice wasn't completely steady. "Gwaine and Lancelot. They'll find the sorcerer who did this."

And make him pay? Or make him lift the enchantment?

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Gwaine took a risk, pushing his horse hard, angling and hoping that the archer – and Lancelot – had continued the northerly course the rest of them had noticed, just out from the cliff-base cave.

And they had.

He tempered his hunt, making time and yet carefully reading the signs left behind by both men. Lancelot relentless – yet not as well supplied, and less familiar with terrain and route, Gwaine guessed.

Kneeling beside yet another set of tracks, he glanced up to study the land ahead through a break in the trees. Mountains were visible, and a storm coming, which might wash away the trail he followed.

Except that the attacker knew where he was going. And hadn't bothered about pursuit enough to attempt throwing Lancelot off. It was almost as if, Gwaine thought, rubbing ash and dirt together between his fingers contemplatively, he was trying to outrun the knight, rather than lose him…

Or he was setting up another ambush.

Gwaine smiled grimly, standing into the wind that was kicking up before the far thunder-heads. He believed he knew where the man was headed, at least. And if luck was with him, he'd catch up with Lancelot before another trap was sprung.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Arthur?"

He blinked, and a square of blue came into focus. He hadn't gotten much sleep, returning from the forge to his own chamber in the citadel long after midnight – but before he could be missed.

Dragging his gaze away from the window, he turned to see Gaius step into the room and give him the same bow the old physician had given Uther, hundreds of times. One of his guards closed the door on their privacy.

"Merlin?" Arthur said immediately, straightening in the chair behind his desk.

"Percival's watching him," Gaius assured him, "and Gwen is with them."

Arthur tried to hide the pang of disappointment. "No change, then." Gaius gave a rueful shake of his head, probably feeling the failure far more keenly than Arthur did. If that was possible.

Three days now. The issues with the council that had seemed so large and weighty that he couldn't stand the additional complication of the druid's key and the dragon's egg, now occupied less than a quarter of his attention. The lesser council had subsided to their duties, not much bothered by the news of Merlin's infirmity. _What will we do without him – what we've always done._ And Arthur had to breathe around his desire to rail against them. Against whoever had done this. Instead he'd worked minimally with Geoffrey, and they all had waited for word from foreign courts. He hadn't seen Bernard lately, either – or if he had, he didn't remember.

Rumors of the egg were spreading, too – just as happened when he'd brought the Fisher King's trident home from his quest. More people with more inane petitions, brought as an excuse to gawk… but that sort of attention would die down, as the object of interest faded to a unique decoration, but little more. At least the requests hadn't required much of his attention, then.

Three days of Merlin there, but not there. Breathing, eating, functioning physically; the bruises healing. Along with the burn on his arm, discovered by Gaius before the first bath they'd attempted. Explained by Gwen – though not in full, as she hadn't known _who_ – before Arthur had taken it upon himself to decapitate every straw training figure in the yard, and not a single knight had dared breathe a word against magic or commoners.

"I have, however, discovered the enchantment used against him, from the arrow shot by the assailant," Gaius went on, and Arthur stood, feeling hope struggle again, just beneath his breastbone. "It is complicated, and… strong, in the way a spider's web is strong. Delicate strands connecting and interconnecting and impossible for anyone but the caster to tell, the consequences of severing even one."

"What does that _mean_?" Arthur demanded.

"I can snap any thread of the enchantment easily," Gaius told him, drawing himself upright with his hands in his sleeves. "But it may be the thread that is keeping him breathing, or that tethers his memories, or that connects his eyesight, do you see? If I tamper with any, it will almost certainly result in permanent damage, rather than cure. Only the person who wove the enchantment, can pluck it free."

"Lancelot and Gwaine have not yet returned," Arthur said, resolving to send more men to follow and aid the two new knights.

Gaius hesitated, and Arthur understood instantly, all too well. Whoever had attacked Merlin so, surely would not simply agree to remove the magic. He shoved himself away from the desk and began to pace irritably.

"What does this sorcerer want?" he demanded of his rug, gripping his fingers together. "To hear Bors tell it, he must have followed them at least through the cave, if not all the way from Camelot. And he shot so suddenly it could have been an arrow to the heart, if he wanted Merlin dead. Did he want the _egg_ for some reason?" But there had been no attempts at theft; the egg remained on display in the audience chamber. "Does he plan to use him as a puppet, somehow? "

"I believe that would be impossible, sire," Gaius said, though cautiously. "To suppress Merlin's free will and keep him relatively motionless and unaware of his surroundings is one thing, but to take control and force him to obedient acts and behavior… no, I don't believe it could be done. Not with this enchantment."

"What about his magic?" Arthur said in a low voice, pausing with his back to the old man. Merlin had been unconscious – dying – when that blue light had saved him in the morteaus cave in the forest of Balor. It _could_ operate independently of Merlin's conscious direction.

"A person's magic can be blocked, temporarily and conditionally," Gaius said. "I believe the knowledge and wherewithal to remove it entirely has been lost, thank heaven. It can be coerced, just as any other skill, but it cannot be commandeered to another's use without the consent of the magic-user, himself."

Arthur nodded. But if anyone meant to neutralize Camelot's magical guardian before launching an attack, they had chosen an unlikely venue, as well as being extremely tardy with the second strike. And any one of his own people, trying to oust a sorcerer tolerated by the king, would surely not use magic to do so.

"So we wait for Lancelot and Gwaine," he said. And hope to high heaven the captured sorcerer would prove _reasonable_ … "Is there nothing else to be done?"

"Perhaps not." Hesitated, and Arthur snapped his gaze to the old man, commanding and imploring. "I should not give up hope, Arthur. Perhaps the druids who warned Merlin of the theft of the key, might know more. Perhaps the great dragon – if somehow he could be contacted – might have answers."

If his dragonlord – and he the only one – were not lost in a waking dream, Arthur thought bitterly. And it would take at least three more days to send someone to the cave where he'd last seen Iseldir – if they were still there.

"Perhaps Merlin himself might win free of the enchantment," Gaius said. "He has accomplished feats before, that I would have called impossible…"

Arthur took a deep breath and let it out. "I hate waiting, Gaius," he said. "I hate not being able to do something."

"Patience is often a necessity, where a person's health is concerned." But it was hard for him, too, Arthur could see it. "I have another request, however."

"What is it?"

"I think it would be beneficial for Merlin to move beyond my chambers. He will walk to and fro if one of us thinks to urge him along, but it is a very small space. He could do with the fresh air, also. And it may be, that something of the world around him may inadvertently penetrate whatever prison holds his mind…"

Arthur resisted, even though he glimpsed how Gaius must have tried to use familiar surroundings, to reach Merlin.

"People think he's only sick, Gaius, if he goes out they'll _know_ – and you haven't forgotten what happened the last time he went to the lower town? And what evidently happened the very day of my coronation? If he goes out, there will be no hiding the fact that he's vulnerable as a babe, in this condition. And it may set people against magic, even more."

Gaius didn't argue. "That is true. And it is your right to decide, what impression you want your people to receive. But…"

What was best for Merlin. That was the question. Would the benefit of fresh air and exercise – the possibility of something sparking him to find his way back on his own – outweigh any risk of altercation?

"Let's wait another day," he said slowly. "I'll send men to follow Lancelot and Gwaine, to try to find the druids, and… if we hear nothing, tomorrow, I'll go walking with Merlin myself."

Gaius might not have expected him to agree at all, but he covered his thoughts as always, and only gave him a wordless bow in a respectful sort of self-dismissal.

The door shut, and the room was silent. Too silent. Too peaceful, too warm – sunbeams and dancing dust-motes and fresh air at the window. Just the sort of day to be taking Gwen to the stream, with Merlin along to drop the cushions and crack the dishes and forget the mustard and step in the pie… and make it all perfect with his magic and his cheeky grin. And Arthur would relax completely, lying in the sun with his love in the crook of his arm, murmuring to each other and _safe_ , because Merlin would let nothing happen to either of them…

Not even the thought of Gwen by the stream, in lavender and with loose curls dressed with flowers, could lift his spirits. He remembered that she once said, _The best thing you can do now, for him, is try to make him proud of you… Because he was, you know, quite proud of you._

He thought, _It must have looked to him like I didn't care_.

 _If he minded_ , Gaius had told him then, _it wasn't for long_ … But Merlin had been alive and aware, then, he had Gaius at least to tell him the truth.

Arthur remembered the hawk – eagle? – watching its free flight in an oblivious daze. Remembered dreaming, being unable to look at Merlin or get Merlin to look at him. Just how they'd been these last few weeks.

Since… the morning after his father had died. The last time Merlin had performed a servant's duties – no, a friend's ministrations – in this very room. And had disappeared in a gray whirlwind of magic… just how he'd escaped the fire of his execution – trading death for exile – evidently.

And now he was gone again, even though he was right there. And heaven forgive him, Arthur thought he preferred thinking Merlin was dead, not knowing that he was there and alive and watching out for them all…

Arthur couldn't bear it. He strode across the room and yanked the door open, stalking blindly through the citadel, only seeking escape from memory and guilt.

 _See magic, see Merlin. Don't hate…_

He found himself in another quiet, sunlit room. Not occupied, though the double guard stationed there drew back respectfully at his approach.

Slow approach. He hadn't bothered looking at it up close, yet.

It was an odd shape, an odd color. It did remind Arthur of the light that appeared to him in the cave, blue-white. Opaque and mysterious – like the mystery of magic itself.

"What will you be?" he whispered, and dared to wrap his hand around the narrow curve at the top; it was neither cool nor warm. Doom or salvation? Bad or good? Enemy or friend? "What do you know? That you're a dragon, meant to fly? That you're trapped, because the last of your lords is trapped?"

Arthur couldn't feel magic the way Merlin seemed to, but he sensed that the egg – sentient yet or not – was more good than bad. More ally than enemy. Maybe even content to trade Ashkenar's tower-tomb for Camelot's citadel, even if its own situation hadn't changed. Centuries worth of patience, this egg represented.

He wondered if it would do any good to bring Merlin here. Probably not, since Merlin had been with the egg already, on the trip back from the tomb.

If they could have saved each other, they would have done so already…

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Gwaine really missed Merlin, during the storm. Another wild early-summer affair, he was drenched but at least not cold – and thoroughly respectful of lightning bolts.

Not an hour after he'd started out – hoping to dry as he walked, hoping to catch some sign the rain had missed, of his friend or their quarry's passage - he found the body.

Sprawled in a clearing, and probably had been through the storm, judging from the way the mud had leached up into trousers and cloak and hair, not to mention the state of the decomposing flesh. He hadn't seen the archer who'd attacked Merlin, himself, but he knew this was the man.

From the boots which had left prints and partial-prints. From the cloak which had left one ripped fragment, at least. From the fact that Gwaine believed, no one else was traveling this stretch of wild, but the three of them. And the crossbow half-under a nearby bush, also splattered with rain-mud.

"Oh, for the love of… damn," he exhaled. He knew little of magic – perhaps Merlin had been cured in an hour by some potion of Gaius' – but. This felt like defeat. Emotion rose up in Gwaine's throat, and nearly choked him. "Dammit. Lancelot. Why did you have to… kill him."

 _Now we'll never_ … resolutely he pushed the thought and that word away.

No choice but to go on.

Gwaine crouched and examined the corpse, with distaste made heavy by a certain hopelessness he couldn't quite deny, in spite of his determined philosophy of looking on the bright side. It wasn't the first such he'd handled – nor probably the last – but the passage of time and the rain had not improved it.

Sword thrust through the gut. Clumsily done, and messy – but the blade had been sharp. Not Lancelot's best work, and he worried why.

But from here, he could see down to a little village, quite like Ealdor but for the castle – not even a third the size of Camelot's citadel, but it looked solid and not ugly, anyway. Three towers, with walls joining them and enclosing the keep. He wondered whose it was. Still Camelot's land, he believed… well, only one way to find out.

Tying the body into its cloak as best he could, he managed to lift the thing over his saddle, sweet-talking his gelding into accepting a load that was truly dead weight, and more than a bit nerve-wracking to a horse.

"Come on, there's a fine lad. And tonight, if the folks are hospitable, there'll be a dry stall for you, hay and oats and an apple if they'll spare me one. I promise."

It occurred to him, he could definitely anticipate the benefits of knighthood, upon his arrival – greeting and accomodations. The thought made him feel only a little less grim.

Shouldering the crossbow, he began to lead his burdened gelding down the hill toward the town.

 **A/N: So, okay. This is all the material I have from the month I was gone, and now I'm focusing on composing my NaNoWriMo story, so… this will go on hiatus til the end of November. But I'm going to be posting a collection of short stories under the heading** _ **3's Company**_ **, starting sometime next week, that'll be about six chapters altogether, which will be about every-five-days update, to take us into December, when I'll come back to this one… Clear as mud, everyone?**


	13. The Druid's Offer

A/N: NaNoWriMo 2016 winner! Yay! Though the story isn't done yet, so the chapters for this will be a little slower – once a week at least, until my NaNo original is done.

Special thanks for everyone who read and reviewed 3's Company last month, though!

And, I realized/decided that a recap was in order, since it's been a while since I updated…

Arthur in Camelot dealing with Merlin's enchantment (and a newly-recovered dragon egg) after an attack at the tomb of Ashkenar; Merlin remains essentially trapped in his own mind. Gaius has no cure and Arthur's exploring other options; fortunately the council's issues over Merlin and magic have been (at least temporarily) addressed and adjourned. Gwaine and Lancelot have been trailing Julius Borden, the caster of the enchantment; unfortunately Gwaine just discovered Borden's corpse…

* * *

 **Chapter 13: The Druid's Offer**

Gwaine had taken the time to don his chainmail and knight's crimson cloak before walking himself and his corpse-carrying mount down to the three-towered castle and village, and it was moments well-spent. As many glances fell curious upon him, a knight of Camelot afoot, as upon the dead man who'd taken his place on the horse, but the cloak offered sufficient explanation, as well as serving to keep those inclined to be nosy at a distance from a ranking knight. It was the first time Gwaine had actually been thankful for the garment.

The approaching road followed a small pleasant river a short way, boats on one side and booths on the other, all peacefully industrious and Gwaine caught no hint of recognition for the man draped over the saddle.

Then again, the body was head down and rear up, face mashed into the gelding's leatherwork with every stride. Gwaine was sorry Borden wasn't alive to feel it, or to answer properly for his attack on Merlin – or to give them the damn antidote or whatever was required to revive the young sorcerer.

He kept a sharp eye alert on the folks he passed, anyway - heading immediately to the castle, as the best place to begin looking for Lancelot - but saw nothing and no one that caught his attention particularly.

The portcullis, at the end of a short grassy yard, was up. A single guard seated on an overturned bucket kept desultory watch, idly shaving a birch stick into a point. By the bits of light wood littering the ground and his boots, he'd been at it for a while, uninterrupted.

"Can't get it sharp enough?" Gwaine said, approaching.

The guard looked up with a gap-toothed grin – then popped to his feet with a startled salute for the crimson cape. "My lord!"

"It's not _lord_ , it's just Gwaine." Mostly covering his wince.

"Sir Gwaine – how may I be of service?" The guard's eyes went past him to the corpse.

"Two things. Well, three. Or…" Gwaine shook his head; he was tired if words were beginning to fail him. This hunt, and last night's sleepless storm, and the disappointment of finding Borden already dead. "First, I need to know if my fellow knight is here now, or has been here recently."

"Sir Lancelot?" The guard nodded, eager to please. "He was wounded, and our lady offered him care and sanctuary as long as he pleased."

"Oh, good – then he's all right?"

The guard made a twitch of invitation, and led him through the gate into a small courtyard, busy with the business of serving a castle – stables, coops, byre, bakehouse. "Boy! we need the steward!" he shouted to a barefoot urchin sprawled on his belly in the shade with an old gray hound. The boy scrambled up and darted off. "It was his leg, I think?" the guard continued to Gwaine. "I didn't see him myself, but I heard – crossbow bolt, and he lost a lot of blood."

Crossbow bolt sounded about right, Gwaine thought grimly. He had the offending weapon slung over his saddle right now. "My second question is –"

"Oh, here's the steward," the guard said. "His name is Taul – _don't laugh_."

In spite of the warning, Gwaine almost did. It was probably down to exhaustion, that he was able to keep his expression even – the top of Taul's head barely reached Gwaine's chin.

"Sir Knight!" Taul panted, hurrying to meet them. The returning boy dropped to a cross-legged position by the dog, but petted it absently, his attention unapologetically focused on the three men. Taul himself had gray-speckled black hair, tight spiraled curls that seemed to spring haphazardly from his head, and a belly that pushed at the front of his charcoal-gray robe. "Welcome! I'm Steward Taul, ah…"

"This is Sir Gwaine of Camelot," the guard supplied helpfully.

"My second question," Gwaine said, "is for the identity of this man." He grabbed a handful of clothing at the corpse's belt, and yanked him to tumble heavily to the courtyard cobbles; Gwaine's gelding shied a few steps, glad to be rid of the burden it was still nervous about. "I believe this was the man who attacked my companion Sir Lancelot, already in your care. And if so, then he is also the man who attacked another friend of mine several days ago." He paused, considered the wisdom, then added deliberately, "With magic."

The steward flinched in obvious alarm at the word, but the guard only nudged the shoulder with the toe of his boot to flop the body over.

"Oh!" he said – and as Taul elbowed him, glanced sideways at the steward and added obtusely, "Uh…"

"You recognize him?" Gwaine said narrowly.

The guard pursed his lips and frowned in ostentatious concentration. Taul drew his response out reluctantly, "Maybe… I would have to speak with… Er, I mean, to know for sure…"

"He looks like someone you know," Gwaine pressed. "Who?"

"Well, it's probably not…" Taul said hastily, crossing his arms in a hunched manner.

"Tell me anyway," Gwaine urged. "Even if it isn't the person you know, at least we'll make sure of that, right?"

Neither said anything. The guard glanced uneasily at Taul, who chewed his lip, staring at the corpse – then shook his head. "It's not, I'm sure it's not, never mind."

"Steward," Gwaine said sternly, drawing himself up to emphasize his greater height. "I need to identify this body."

Taul wilted a little. "He looks like a criminal my lord caught a few months ago. But that man should be still in the cells here, or…"

"Handless," the guard interjected succinctly.

Gwaine's eyebrows rose. "A thief, then?"

That made sense, he supposed, if word had gotten out that their destination was a sorcerer's treasure tomb… though shooting one man and fleeing, was not the best plan for stealing artifacts, even the one object evidently coveted by rivals. Not a very good one, to be caught – to be driven off empty-handed… then again, to have somehow escaped this lord's keep and to have the magic to effectively subdue a sorcerer like Merlin…

Merlin. Who had told him a fast and sometimes incoherent story, the night they'd walked away from Camelot. The maybe-thief who'd brought the map – the trap –

"Julius Borden," Gwaine said.

Taul flinched. The guard only blinked.

"Well?" Gwaine prompted. "It is, isn't it?"

"I'll have to check our records," Taul mumbled, dropping his eyes to the body again. "To be sure…"

"As soon as possible, if you please, as well as the cell he's supposed to be in?" Gwaine said pleasantly. Hadn't Merlin mentioned that Gaius had been familiar with Borden, years ago? Maybe with this identification, the old physician might find the solution he looked for – unless he already had, in Gwaine's absence. Optimism was a necessity of life, in his opinion.

"I can show you to Sir Lancelot first?" Steward Taul offered hopefully. "You can rest and refresh yourself while I try to find the information you require from our records."

"I'll have someone see to your horse, my lord," the guard added.

"And have someone put that -" Taul's hands fluttered uncomfortably over the corpse – "somewhere else. Sir Gwaine, if you would follow me…"

He trailed the steward into the left-hand tower, noting all seemed neat, but spare. Borden's identity was all but confirmed, in his opinion, more to be gained by genial cooperation with this steward than outright confrontation or making demands based on his rank. What remained to be discovered was, what else was known about the thief. Was this his hometown, or was it nearby? He'd led Lancelot almost two days' journey from Camelot before setting his ambush, perhaps this was territory he felt comfortable in. For whatever reason. And if he had a home – or accomplices - near here, or even in town, perhaps more answers could be found there, also.

"Perhaps I could also speak to your lord about this murdering thief?" Gwaine suggested.

Taul glanced over his shoulder – eyes on level with Gwaine's as they climbed a stair, past what looked like the main dining hall. "Our lord is absent, unfortunately, and our lady is… indisposed."

"My sympathies," Gwaine said, and remembered the manners appropriate for his title. "It will be my pleasure to attend upon her if she should so desire it."

"I will convey the sentiment," Taul said, hiking his robe. "She will appreciate it, even if she chooses to remain private. I'll send a servant immediately also, to bring food and wash-water and remove any garments you may wish laundered."

"Thank you very much," Gwaine returned. "And perhaps someone that may be sent to Camelot with a message?"

Taul turned again, at the top of the stair now slightly above Gwaine, frowning unhappily. "A message to Camelot?"

Gwaine offered a nonthreatening grin, though his instincts stirred to wonder. "I should report to my captain that the man I hunted is dead, and my fellow knight injured but recovering."

"Oh." Taul shifted his gaze to the stone wall past Gwaine's head for a moment, considering. "Yes, yes of course. And here is Sir Lancelot's chamber." He stood aside, gesturing at the first door. And turned down the corridor as Gwaine reached for the latch. "Boy!"

Another young urchin skipped into view clutching a sewn-skin ball.

"You're supposed to be available if the knight needs anything," Taul scolded. "Now no more ball-playing indoors, you sit here and wait upon the gentlemen." The boy scuffed his feet, hugging the ball as he approached, eyes glumly on the floor. Taul offered Gwaine an apologetic look, preparing to retrace his steps downward. "I hope your stay is comfortable, Sir Gwaine."

"Thank you," Gwaine said again. He and the boy watched the steward descend, then he looked down at the child. "I take it we're the only guests?" The boy jerked his head, shaggy hair a shade between blonde and brown. "And you're getting out of your regular chores to attend us?"

Another nod, a tentative upward flash of dark eyes. Gwaine grinned and palmed the ball out of the boy's arms, twisting to give it a good throw down the corridor.

"If we need anything, I'll get it – you go play."

The boy beamed and darted after the diminishing thud of the bouncing ball. Gwaine lifted the latch and entered the room.

It wasn't bad – spare as the rest of the castle, but clean and airy, and light came in at tall narrow windows. In the center stood a small table and chairs atop a colorfully provincial rug, a wardrobe that leaned to the right, and a delicate-looking writing desk. There were two beds on the left wall and two on the right, possibly able to fit two at a time if the two were friendly.

Lancelot occupied the bed on the near left, eyes closed, skin as pale as sheets and shirt. Gwaine moved to the bedside, bringing one of the chairs along, and he stirred, blinking to watch Gwaine seat himself. Awareness and then recognition entered feverishly-bright eyes, but slowly.

"How are you feeling?" Gwaine asked, giving him a wry half-grin.

"Shot in the leg," Lancelot rasped, trying to pull himself higher in the bed. "Right out of the saddle. He came back to finish me off… They said I rode to the castle dripping blood off my stirrup. I don't even remember how I got back up to the saddle."

Gwaine snorted. "They told me, you're going to be fine."

"They've got an herb-woman," Lancelot said, licking his lips and looking about the room. "She's not Gaius, but… at least I'm not dead."

Gwaine leaned to retrieve a pitcher and goblet from a small table between the two beds. "So you killed him, then." He poured a couple of inches of water for Lancelot, who drank greedily and sighed.

"Yes, I… had to. I am sorry." Gwaine wondered if Lancelot thought, he never should have let himself be ambushed – but it was always easier to spot someone else's mistakes than one's own. Lancelot blinked, and his eyes cleared further. "What about Merlin? He was shot, too, is he all right?"

"He's alive." Gwaine hesitated to tell the rest, but Lancelot looked alarmed, and struggled to sit up. Gwaine pressed his shoulder down and was surprised how easy it was to do; Lancelot was still quite weak. "It was an enchanted arrow. Never pierced the skin, but it put him in some kind of trance."

Lancelot absorbed this. "For how long?"

"I couldn't say. Gaius didn't want my help, so I volunteered to come after this bastard with you."

"You mean," Lancelot frowned gently, "Merlin was in the trance all the way to Camelot?"

"Yeah. I suppose Gaius might have found a solution in the few days I've been gone, but –"

"Oh, then we needed that bowman alive," Lancelot realized. "Oh, how could I have been so stupid."

It was probably not the time, Gwaine thought, to actually answer that question the way he normally would, needling his soft-spoken companion. "Never mind. It's Merlin, right? He'll be fine, I'm sure."

Lancelot swallowed and nodded, but tears glistened in his eyes as he gazed upward at the ceiling of the room they were evidently to share, and Gwaine decided to keep details of his further investigations to himself for the time being. He scraped his chair back and rose to cross to the writing-desk, finding the materials that he needed.

"What are you doing?" Lancelot's voice was faint, but audible from the bed.

"Writing to Arthur. Letting him know what happened with the attacker, and you. That we'll be here for a little while, before we return." Gwaine scratched the message in carefully-chosen vagaries; Arthur would read the significance just fine, but it would be meaningless to anyone else who saw it.

There was a knock on the door, and Gwaine interrupted himself to open it for a pair of servants, one with a food-tray and the other balancing a water-jug in a wide basin, towels draped over his arm.

"Thanks very much," Gwaine said. "On the table is fine."

"Steward said you had a message to send?" the nearer servant said. "To Camelot?"

"Yes." Gwaine leaned over the desk to add one more detail. "Where are we anyway? I forgot to ask whose castle this is?"

"One of Camelot's Northern Marcher lords," Lancelot told him, trying to bunch his pillows to lift himself higher in the bed. "Descalot."

Gwaine signed his name before rolling the sheet and tying it with a bit of twine from one of the compartments of the desk.

"Thanks also for this," he told the servant, who bowed as he accepted the scroll from Gwaine. As he closed the door behind himself and his fellow, Gwaine turned his attention to the much-welcomed hot food and hot water.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin _woke_ , because… if there was another word for it, he didn't know what it was.

Light blur. Some blinking. Return of awareness.

He seemed to be lying on a straw-scattered stone floor. Stone walls – torchlight or daylight? he couldn't tell – separated from each other by iron cage-work, one foot square pattern.

It was very quiet. Also, it smelled like a stable, which was… odd?

Curiosity had him struggling to sit up, try to see more of his surroundings, try to figure out where he was – a dungeon? – and why.

He'd taken a swing at someone who turned out to be the prince – no, he was working as the prince's unappreciated manservant til he was nearly asleep on his feet, mucking out… no?

"You're awake."

A whisper startled him, though the speaker sounded nervous, if not downright frightened.

He shifted to see that his – cell? – had a neighbor, though if there was more than two, the others lay around a blind corner. A passageway for guards ran along the front of both cells, before disappearing into a right angle beyond the side wall of his.

There was a girl in the next cell, standing in the middle of the space with her arms hugging her middle, shoulders hunched and eyes wary. She wore a plain gray dress, wrists to neck to ankles, and had curly black hair like Gwen's might be if she cut it short around her ears, and several years younger.

"Ah. Hello," Merlin said lamely. The girl started back several feet from him, eyes wide. "It's okay, please don't – you don't have to be afraid of me." She didn't look convinced, so he tried a reassuring smile. "I'm Merlin."

Instead of responding, she gave their surroundings a wary glance – ceiling, walls, floor.

"What's your name?" he encouraged. And then, because he couldn't help it, "Do you know where we are?"

"I'm… people call me Ally," she said, hesitant. Now watching him again, as if he was the threat. "We're… in the dungeon of Camelot."

"What?" he said, scrambling to his feet. Straw stuck to his trousers; his head swam, although – as he felt it, rubbing fingers through his hair and over his face – there didn't seem to be any bumps or bruises which might explain… anything.

"Dungeons of Camelot," Ally repeated, though she was now wedged in the far corner, away from him.

"It can't be," he said confusedly. "I've been there on –" he moved for the front of the cell, tried to see around the corner, examined ceiling and floor like she'd done – "many occasions, and I don't… recognize this."

She didn't respond.

He blinked and reality remained unchanged. Yes, he remembered more than one night spent in Camelot's cells – but he also remembered the reasons given for his incarceration. This time… did it have something to do with dragons?

"How long have we been here?" he asked then, frowning.

"You were here when I… arrived," she told him, her voice low and hoarse with remaining apprehension. "Just… lying there."

"And how long have you been here?" he asked.

She twitched a shrug, but didn't come out of her corner. "Not long."

He glanced around their cells again – no cots or pallets, no food trays or even buckets. He wondered if it would do to call for a guard, or whether they'd be more inclined to violence than to answering questions, and decided to stick with his cell-mate, for now. "Why are you in here? If you don't mind my asking."

She ventured a few cautious steps, keeping one shoulder along the stone back wall. "Magic."

"Magic?" he said blankly.

She studied him, still wary but maybe getting over fear. "The use of magic is punishable by death in Camelot."

Merlin was speechless. _Yeah I know_ tripped over _You have magic too?_ and collided with _But it isn't any longer_ … "What happened? What did you do with your magic?"

She frowned, peaked black eyebrows that suited a small round child-like face, though she probably wasn't that much younger than him. "Does it matter? I didn't hurt anyone, but…" she twitched another uneasy shrug. "This is Camelot."

"Arthur's not like his father, though," Merlin insisted, trying to organize his memories in order. Wasn't Uther dead? Hadn't Arthur declared Merlin's freedom?

He lifted his hands and saw – all ten, undiminished. Wonderingly he squeezed the last joint on his last finger, and felt it. All a dream, then? No questioner, no pyre, no ruins? Gwaine and Lancelot still roaming beyond Camelot's borders… What about Percival, though, if all that never happened then he shouldn't know Percival…

Was he even now awaiting trial – and maybe his confusion was down to whatever Gaius had put in the water, except… this was not the foul dank hole Leon and Brenner had walked him to.

Brenner had helped him to his feet, and explained about Arrok, _he had a brother…_

What about Arthur. He _remembered_ that feeling of swelling pride, when the prince had turned round to face his people with a king's crown on his head…

"Why am I in here?" Merlin said, unable to pierce the confusion. "Do you know that?"

She'd almost reached the cage-wall that separated their two cells. Still frowning, unsure of him. "Magic. Of course."

Of course. The world seemed to spin around him, and he searched for answers in his palms. "What did I do?" he whispered – and anticipated her answer. _Does it matter?_

 _It does. Because I used it to save his life._ That was something he knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt. _It should matter, at least to_ him _._

Shouldn't it?

"They'll execute us soon," Ally said, and shivered, casting her eyes toward the bend in the passage, unseen torchlight flickering over the stone. "I don't want to be here."

"They won't do anything to you, if I can help it," Merlin promised. "I'll get us out of here."

 _Do I still remember the way?_

Neither of their cells appeared to have a door. Though that wasn't a problem; Merlin held out his hand and _concentrated_. The girl flinched away from him – and nothing happened.

No bloody rune itched the skin of his chest, no block clattered hot and insistent over turbulent magic. All felt quiescent, and exactly as it should be, except – his magic didn't respond to him, not even when he tried verbalizing the spells.

 _Tospringe! Onlucan! Un-clyse!_

"I can't use my magic," he said aloud. A reluctant admission that left him feeling cold and uncertain, as she seemed. Maybe for the same reason, then. "Why can't I use my magic?"

She moved closer, and when he folded himself to sitting, hugging knees to his chest, she seated herself on the other side of the bars.

He swallowed and told her, "Don't give up hope. I'm not out of ideas yet. I have a friend I can call…"

"What friends?" she asked. "Other sorcerers? Knights?"

"I guess, a few…" He shook his head; it still ached. "I can't remember. I thought that Arthur had knighted Lancelot, and Gwaine, but… no, I had another friend in mind."

But wasn't he angry at Kilgarrah for attacking Camelot? How did he expect the dragon to help free them from the dungeon without causing more damage? Well, at the very least, he might be able to help sort Merlin's memories, and correct his impressions to the truth.

She reached a tentative hand through the bars and laid it on his arm, almost as if taking a final reassurance that he was real; he recognized, no matter what was true or not, or what happened, she was his kin, too, and he would protect her.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and prepared himself to call out to the great dragon.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur was beginning to realize – or maybe just to remember – that there was a lot of _compromise_ , to being king.

He and Gaius had compromised the previous day, on the question of exercise and fresh air for Merlin. He hadn't given up hope, exactly, but he no longer woke eager to ask Gaius about any possible change; the sorcerer who'd been such a true friend to them both was still only his outer shell.

It was very eerie, very quickly, to stroll the corridors and galleries of the citadel, Merlin's hand tucked in his elbow and Percival a silent presence two steps behind. Because Merlin never did anything so prosaic as _walking_ – it was always dashing or striding, or… tripping, and never so noiselessly. And because it was awkward to watch his step for him, without being able to tease him about clumsiness when his foot caught on some overlooked impediment. And when he couldn't fire a retort back, _well, take better care of me, then_.

So when Orryn came to tell Arthur, _Nemeth has responded in writing_ , and Tobe came with him, Arthur relinquished the care of his absent-in-spirit former manservant to the current manservant's son. And then felt guilty when the little boy tugged at Merlin's hand and chattered up at him about some mishap with a prize frog and Gwen's herb-basket, exactly as if Merlin could hear him.

The second day, Arthur tried harder. And took his friend to the lower town, just after the noon meal.

"It worked out for the best," Arthur said to Merlin over his shoulder, steering him around the sharp corner of a cart that protruded too far into the street. "All these servants who were surprised to see you, and oh-so-curious about your mysterious malady, have spread the rumors here already."

Similar reactions from the townspeople. Slightly different than Arthur alone – _the king 'imself, g'day Yer Majesty_ – surprise and not-so-subtle interest. Was it true then, Merlin – _sorcerer, ghost, enchanter, friend_ – had himself been attacked with magic.

Arthur looked for and found, a not insignificant amount of sympathy. Like this, Merlin was… pathetic a word he'd use to his friend's face, when it could come alive at the insult and taunt him back. Unintimidating, at least. Pitiable, maybe. At least there was none of the tension he'd felt the day he'd stopped his people tormenting Merlin in the market.

"We received a letter from King Rodor yesterday," he said to Merlin, sweeping an arm behind him to press his friend out of the way of a puddle. The two of them were alone among the busy people, coming and going and buying and selling and making and fixing. "He wants to meet. They've wanted Gedref for as long as I can remember, though, and there's no love lost between Rodor and Odin, I'm sure we can work out a – compromise."

 _There's that word, again._

"You remember Gedref, don't you?" Arthur glanced back in spite of himself, knowing what he'd see. Vacant blue eyes, expression smoothed pleasant and gentle, but empty. "Do you remember walking this street as we were coming back? And the food was plentiful again, even though we worried all the crops were dead…"

Arthur stopped in his tracks – and Merlin a docile moment later – gazing up toward the citadel, removed from the town at this point by fifty yards or so. If crops could be restored, why not people's wits? Maybe they should make the journey again, try to find that old man in the white robe, what was his name –

"Merlin, what's the name of that man who –"

Arthur inhaled, and swallowed. It felt like his heart just dropped into his stomach, like an overripe apple from the tree to the ground.

"Never mind," he said softly.

But the sun was warm and the air was cool; he turned to position his friend, backing him up with his hands on the shoulders of the old brown jacket – because evidently no one wanted to burn this one except Arthur himself – to sitting on the low stone wall that kept the hill from washing into the road. He sat himself beside Merlin, glad that the enchantment at least didn't draw his friend's body unnaturally straight. Merlin sat slouched as he always did, just… so still and quiet.

"Maybe it wouldn't work anyway," Arthur added after a moment. "Didn't he say, he didn't have the power to lift that curse? I had to prove myself…"

He kicked his boot-heel against the stone they sat on in dissatisfaction, watching a man pushing a handcart nod in greeting to a woman with a basket over her elbow. It seemed his entire life was, proving himself. And then, it didn't last and he had to, all over again.

"I wish Lancelot and Gwaine were back," he mentioned after a moment, to Merlin's indifferent serenity. "Has anyone told you Lancelot was injured? Julius Borden. Who knew that man had it in him, to use magic against you – and then to shoot a knight of Camelot. Gaius was fit to be tied when we got Gwaine's message…"

And Arthur had been fit to be tied, when he read that Borden was dead. No chance of persuading him to cooperation in lifting the curse, anymore.

"He thinks, though, that there was no way Borden constructed your enchantment, even given that twenty years and more had passed since he was familiar with the man's abilities. And if anyone can find out who _did_ , and gave the enchanted arrow to Borden, it'll be Gwaine, you can be sure of that. I might even have to promote him." He nudged Merlin's shoulder with his; Merlin swayed but only righted himself slowly, not nudging back.

Arthur turned his head to squint into the sun toward his two guards, well-practiced now at keeping a discreet distance; he still couldn't quite comprehend how Uther could stand having the rotating pair breathing down his neck whenever he was not in his private chamber. Percival was with them, Tobe on his back with his feet in the big man's hands as if he stood in stirrups, and probably about as high as he'd be on a pony's back. Percival was watchful of Arthur and Merlin, and had probably guessed his wish to be alone; he tipped Tobe onto the wall maybe twenty paces from them, and supervised the boy walking the waist-high edge with half his attention.

"Carados left to join Lancelot and Gwaine, before we got Gwaine's message. Arrok volunteered also. Leon had reservations about that, but I figure… if nothing else, Carados can stay with Lancelot while he recovers, and Arrok and Gwaine can go their separate ways, competing for the information – and maybe even end up friends, through this mission. We'll have to work on Gwaine's reporting skills, when they get back - he didn't think to let us know where they are, though his handwriting is good enough for a scribe's…"

Which was slightly odd, he mused. Swordsmen like Gwaine didn't usually bother learning their letters.

"I've got other men questing for the whereabouts of the great dragon, too. Maybe he can get through to you… if they can find him. If he'll listen to them." Arthur snorted. "I believe that you think he's your friend, Merlin, but… Honestly, I'm hoping that Bors can find the druids, myself. And Gaius mentioned this morning that he'd written to a friend of his – you remember Alice, don't you? And it seems there's an entire city that's a sanctuary for magic-users and a repository for the lore, so you see, it's not hopeless…"

Merlin breathed and blinked at the far treetops, and Arthur felt a despair that belied his words.

"You said," he whispered. Putting one hand on Merlin's shoulder, and the other over his eyes. "Merlin. You said…"

"Sire!"

He dropped his hand, turning to find the speaker approaching along the road from the lower town. Long black hair, red cape – Brenner. But behind him, three figures swathed in the obvious druid fashion.

Arthur bolted up from the wall, distantly realizing the stir that the visitors were making, coming openly into Camelot, led to the king by one of the knights. Tobe jumped down from the wall, and Percival caught his forward rush with a restraining hand on the boy's chest. But the foremost of the three had his hood down, and his fine white-blond hair floated on the breeze about his weathered face. Arthur knew him, and felt hope again.

"Iseldir!" he called in greeting,

Brenner heaved a palpable sigh of relief, crossing the distance to him. He'd probably been hoping that he was doing the right thing, in allowing the druids entrance to Camelot. Percival had Tobe by the hand, following them at a short distance.

"Thank you, Brenner, they're friends," Arthur reassured him. The knight gave a short bow, backing away to stand attendant, but not listening in, and Arthur faced the druid. "I'm surprised you got my message so quickly –"

Iseldir gave him a gentle smile. "We received no message, Arthur Pendragon, though it is heartening to hear that you sent for us. We appreciate your welcome – and we have come for Emrys."

"Yes, he's –" Arthur gestured to Merlin, left simply sitting on the wall, gaze directed several feet to the side of the group. "How did you know that he – no, that's not important. Is there anything you can do for him?"

Tobe shook free of Percival's grip and ran to hop up next to Merlin. Percival glanced at Arthur for orders, but he had none; at the moment he didn't mind the addition to their company, and the big almost-knight had always been one to keep his mouth shut.

He led Iseldir to Merlin, explaining as best he could, what he remembered Gaius saying of the enchantment. Then the druid knelt at Merlin's feet, shapeless in his cloak but looking earnestly up into the young man's face.

"Emrys."

Of course, nothing. Arthur did not know why he was disappointed – again – but he'd have to admit, if Merlin had responded immediately to the druid, he himself would have felt jealous.

Tobe gathered one of Merlin's hands into both of his much smaller ones. The druid sighed. "I warned him, it was a trap."

Arthur recalled what Merlin had said to him, the last night they'd spoken. "So that's true, then. You had Ashkenar's triskelion, and Julius Borden stole it from you." He couldn't help thinking of their previous meeting, and another important artifact stolen – he didn't say anything, but Iseldir twisted in his crouch to meet Arthur's eyes.

"I suppose we could have stopped the thief," he said mildly. "But the triskelion came here, where it was meant to come – to the hand of him who was meant to use it."

Arthur snorted. "So you knew that Merlin was a dragonlord, too?"

Iseldir pushed upright, something like surprise fluttering around the edges of his calm. "A dragonlord also? No, we didn't know… though of course that makes sense. Emrys carries great responsibilities, and this one it seems was due to an inherited destiny."

"An inherited destiny," Arthur said. Something like, being born crown prince.

"He united the triskelion, he used the map, he retrieved the tomb's treasure, did he not? The dragon's egg, it was there? The task is his, then, to call the young dragon forth and raise it for the benefit of all."

"I was afraid of that," Arthur said ruefully. Damn it all, yet another complication, another obstacle – he heard Merlin's voice for a moment, very clear, _we wouldn't know what to do with_ easy _._ He gestured at his tranquilly catatonic friend, permission and request. "Well, he can't do it like this."

Iseldir hesitated. "Magic is still illegal, is it not?"

"Yes, but –" Arthur was impatient – "there are to be no more executions, and I'd conduct your trial and pardon you anyway, just… can you do anything for him?"

"It is true!" the nearer druid gasped, raising hands to lower the hood. A pale woman with fuzzy-curly black hair tied at her nape, and deep lines worn by care in her face. "They said, but – what an extraordinary thing to witness in person! The young Pendragon, open to magic. Accepting his connection to Emrys…"

Iseldir smiled over his shoulder at the woman, who dropped her eyes away from Arthur's surprise, and retreated in spirit. Then the druid chief lifted his hand to ghost over Merlin's chest – neck – face, Tobe leaning forward to watch intently. Iseldir rose slightly, using his grip to tilt Merlin's head down, touching his forehead to that of the somnolent sorcerer.

Arthur held his breath. The third and silent druid took a step forward, raising a hand to Iseldir as if in entreaty or warning – but otherwise, nothing happened.

Another moment passed, and Iseldir began to tremble. Then released Merlin, staggering as he rose to his feet, just slightly. It might have been due to age, that momentary loss of balance, but the third put hands on Iseldir's shoulders from behind to steady him. Arthur noted that they'd gathered quite the crowd – and didn't care. Merlin sat, and breathed, and gazed through the road, as his head remained canted as Iseldir had positioned him.

"Well?" Tobe demanded.

Iseldir took a deep breath, tousling the boy's fuzzy brown hair, then let it out in a sigh, turning to meet Arthur's gaze. "Gaius is quite right about this enchantment," he said. "But it is crudely woven – I might compare it to a child tossing a ball of spun wool all around a room, again and again and back and forth, as fancy strikes, til it shrinks to its end."

"I don't understand," Arthur said, frowning.

"If I were to cast such a thing –" the woman made a noise of revulsion, and Iseldir gave her a nod of agreement – "it would be more like a spider's web. Interconnected, rather than just… overlapping. What it means is, if one end can be found – so to speak – it might be unraveled. With time."

The third druid inhaled sharply, and Iseldir turned as if he – or she – had spoken.

"Yes, I believe he could," the old druid said mildly.

"Who?" Arthur said. "You know of someone who can do that?"

"Emrys himself." The three turned to look again at Merlin, passive and unmoving, head still bowed, hand still cradled in Tobe's hopeful grip.

Arthur wanted to shout with frustration; to contain it, he spoke between his teeth. "Then why hasn't he done it?"

"He's probably unaware of the need." Iseldir looked at the third druid for a silent moment, then remarked, "Yes, that's a good idea. It could work, especially if the young king was willing to –"

"I'm willing," Arthur blurted. Anything, by damn, anything. Well, nearly.

"There is a set of linked crystals," Iseldir said to him. "Used sometime for advanced training, such as we have not conducted in years. They allow one person to enter the mind of another –"

"I'd be able to talk to him?" Arthur said, interrupting again.

"I'll do it!" Tobe was on his feet on the wall, Percival moving to a position where he could catch him if he fell. Eyes on the druid, Arthur gave the boy the knight's signal for silence, which he probably didn't understand, but it worked.

"Possibly." Iseldir reconsidered. "Probably. It is not certain, when one of the pair has no magic of his or her own, though a very strong pre-existing bond can suffice. His blood kin, for example."

"Gaius?" Arthur suggested.

The druid squinted slightly in resistance to the idea. "Gaius is well advanced in years, but not magic… I would not have him risk it. You, however, have – as Shana put it – accepted your connection to Emrys. I believe you could use the magic of the crystals –" He held up a cautionary hand to Arthur's reaction – "though it is not without its risks, Arthur. You can have no idea beforehand what you might experience, what he is seeing and hearing and doing within his own mind… Anything that seems to happen to you in that place may very well have an effect in reality, aside from the drain on your energy –"

"Where are they?" Arthur said, the moment the older man paused. "These crystals? Do you have them?"

Iseldir studied Arthur, then smiled another of his gentle smiles. "They can be here in a matter of hours, Your Majesty. If you are prepared to pardon the use of magic in their retrieval."

Arthur snorted. "Didn't I just agree to use it myself? What might I give you in return? Some reward?"

"Before you are assured of success?" the woman Shana said, surprised.

"You didn't have to come openly to Camelot," Arthur said to her, in explanation. "I know the risks you face in so doing."

"Emrys knows also, does he not? Still he suffers for the future of all magic…" Iseldir shook his head, looking back at Merlin. "We need no reward to do our utmost to aid him."

"Yes, but –" Arthur protested.

"The dragon's egg." The third druid lowered his hood. Dark-skinned and completely bald, his jaw looked carved from stone, skin stretched taut over tension. His eyes were small, but sharp. "Perhaps we could… see it?"

"Oh, yes!" the woman gasped.

Arthur hesitated, but only a moment. He trusted Iseldir, who evidently trusted these two strangers. They knew the egg essentially belonged to Merlin as the last dragonlord; he had to believe that they would not endanger tentative relations with Camelot, or with Merlin himself, by being careless or greedy with the egg.

"That can be arranged," he said. "We will… wait for you in that chamber?" He caught Brenner's attention and flipped his fingers; the knight stepped closer to hear. "Sir Brenner can meet you at the forest edge, guard and guide you once again? And you would be our welcomed guests as long as is needed."

Shana made a noise like a strangled chuckle. Iseldir smiled at her, inclining his head and raising his fair brows as if to say, _I told you so_ …

Then the three druids gave slight but respectful bows, and turned toward the lower town, pacing sedately. Brenner followed, after a moment adopting the marching pace of an official escort, probably for his own level of comfort. Arthur noticed that none of the druids put up their concealing hoods, in spite of the attention of the dispersing crowd and the streets of the lower town they faced.

"I'll go tell Gaius and Gwen!" Tobe volunteered, flushed with an excitement that probably made it hard for the little boy to keep still. He didn't wait for permission, but jumped down from the wall again and darted toward the open gates of the citadel.

"And everyone else along the way," Percival remarked to Arthur.

He decided he didn't care. Facing Merlin, he couldn't help the grin, grabbing a handful of the front of his blue shirt to pull him to his feet – even though he didn't protest, or meet Arthur's eyes.

"Did you hear that?" Arthur said, ignoring the fact that it was rhetorical. "Here I come. Whether you're ready or not."


	14. Reaching Merlin

**Chapter 14: Reaching Merlin**

"Shall I take him, Sire?" Percival asked solicitously, keeping pace behind Arthur leading Merlin across the courtyard to the great stairs.

"No, I…" Arthur could not explain his curious reluctance to be parted from his enchanted sorcerer, not when there was tangible hope for the first time since Bors had said, _There is no visible wound, sire – but with magic, who can say…_ "I will keep him with me."

He didn't remember anything pressing in his schedule – Leon could handle the training session and probably they'd be done in a few hours – and nothing that couldn't be deferred, anyway, according to the king's wish. They two took Merlin's arms to help him keep balance, and to encourage the directionless feet to climb the stairs, one after another, til they reached the top.

Then Arthur added, to stop the big man turning away, "But – you don't have to leave."

Percival had been Merlin's friend, also; his square serious face split wide on a surprisingly boyish smile. Hopeful, and relieved. "I'll wait for you in Gaius' chambers, shall I?"

Arthur nodded, and Percival took the stairs to the right, leaving him to guide Merlin, slowly but surely, toward the receiving chamber that now housed the dragon's egg. His two ever-present guards took positions on either side of the double doors that Arthur left open, on the outside as there were already two men stationed inside to watch over the egg. He crossed the floor to the oddly-shaped blue-white marvel, waiting patiently on a plinth to one side; Merlin followed obediently, and still showed no sign of awareness of his proximity to it. This time, Arthur dared to take Merlin's hand, lift it to the rounded point that topped the egg, and wrap the dragonlord's fingers around that curve.

But of course, nothing happened.

"Awe-inspiring, is it not?" someone said, and Arthur raised his eyes to see Lord Bernard, in the shadow between the plinth and the wall, facing the egg with his hands clasped habitually behind his back. "Something so powerful, and yet so vulnerable. So untamable, and yet… inert."

Arthur wondered if he was talking solely about the egg.

"I heard the truth about what happened to young Merlin, though I haven't yet crossed paths with him," Bernard went on, stepping forward til he was just on the other side of the displayed dragons'-egg. "Of course, everyone has by now. At first, people seemed – unnerved at the thought of what magic can do, even to other creatures of magic. But now… more sympathetic?"

He'd noticed the same thing, in their walk. And wondered, if the king had not accompanied Merlin and his self-appointed guards – Percival, Gwen, Tobe, even Gaius once or twice - if more people might not have stopped them to put their feelings into speech. Ironic, that such a tragedy would make folks relax toward the victim. Just as they'd done when Merlin had been arrested, and then apparently executed.

"No doubt the druids were helpful?" Bernard said, almost solicitously.

Arthur snorted - news did travel fast in the citadel – then inhaled deliberately, deciding. "They knew of no way to break the curse, either," he said. Which was accurate, if not entirely truthful. "It's complicated, evidently, but we've received word that the one responsible has already received due punishment, killed by one of my knights in defending himself. So we can no longer hope to persuade that man to lift the enchantment… The druids offered only, a way to communicate with Merlin, wherever he is, inside his mind."

He refrained from adding the detail, they no longer believed Borden had been the origin of the magic. Gwaine did his best work when no one knew he was doing it; if there was information or an accomplice to be found, he had no doubt that Gwaine wouldn't rest til it was uncovered.

"Interesting… But otherwise, it may never be undone?" Bernard guessed. "Sire, I – know this may not be the time, but perhaps… it's for the best?" Arthur shot him a look, and he freed his hands to hold them up, palms out. "I'm not blind, Majesty – nor are you. It can't have been easy for him, coming back. I wonder, if the enchantment isn't lifted, if he shouldn't be taken to his home village, and allowed to live out a quiet simple life."

 _Perhaps if he was not involved – maybe not in the kingdom at all – people would find it easier to begin anew on this alternate course you've set…_

Perhaps the crystals would allow him to speak to Merlin. But what if Gwaine was ultimately unable to find who had woven the spell? and what if Merlin could not find that loose end, to unravel it himself? Would he keep his friend's body nearby, just to speak to him by the crystals occasionally, ask for advice, seek encouragement? What would the council, or the people, make of that? What would Merlin himself want – to return to Ealdor, to his mother's care and maybe a crystal-link with her?

Arthur sighed, reminding himself that a warrior should not think of the paralyzing what-if's. If the druids had faith in Merlin, so should he.

"Sire, is it true?" a voice interrupted, and drew his attention to the door.

Lords Urbert and Emund – the one not so pale and limp, the other not so absent-minded-looking – both out of breath, as if they'd just rushed to find him, on hearing the latest gossip about magic in Camelot. Which they probably had.

Urbert added, "We heard that you were approached by druids – that you invited them to return – that you plan to allow them to transgress the law to aid your – well, _him_."

"Yes, that's true," Arthur said. He felt surprisingly calm. Perhaps because he wasn't facing the council entire, or perhaps because he didn't actually care what they had to say, this time. He didn't need their approval for _this_. "They offered a possible means to a solution, negotiating no terms and requiring no compensation." Essentially.

"Why would they do that?" Emund asked; he sounded both baffled and curious.

"Because of their respect for Merlin." In gesturing, he saw that the dragonlord still had his hand rested on the egg – with his gaze far to the distance, he almost looked… noble. Thoughtful, and melancholy. "I intended to open communications with the druids at an opportune time in the future anyway, learn more about their customs – both magical and otherwise – in an attempt to reach a peaceful accord with them. If possible."

"A _treaty_? with the _druids_?" Urbert nearly screeched.

Bernard moved out from behind the dragon's-egg plinth, his brows lowered skeptically.

"I had intended to discuss it with the council before contacting the druids," Arthur said mildly. "Perhaps that can be organized more swiftly, now that they're to stay for some time."

"Druids in Camelot…" Urbert made a choked sound, swinging away to pace further into the room, as if activity could dispel disbelief – or change reality.

"But sire," Emund said quietly. "They will be breaking the law as it stands, with every performance of magic – as will you, if you participate."

"My father broke his own laws when it suited him, did he not," Arthur pointed out. Determinedly ignoring his usual protest to any comparison, _I am not my father_ …

"Will you hold a trial for them, then?" Bernard inquired. "Are they aware of that?"

"There will be no trial," Arthur said, "unless one of them commits some other crime. I've pardoned them already for the magic."

"What?" Urbert said, spinning to face them and raising his voice – ostensibly to carry the distance, Arthur was sure. "You cannot pardon a crime before it has been committed!"

Arthur breathed twice. In, then out.

"King Uther condemned many, before any crime had been committed. And you lot sat his council and allowed it. Supported it. You cared more for your wealth and authority and position than the people of the kingdom."

Silence rang through the chamber.

"Perhaps you are right," Bernard said evenly, with an odd spark in his eyes. "But as that is in the past, what would you have us do to rectify it."

"I would have you stand on your principles!" Arthur said – not berating these three of his councilmen, but speaking as he would to knights before a battle. "I would have you _lead_ the people, not be led by them! I would have you oppose me honestly, then follow me fully, I would have you broaden your narrow minds to the truth, and _trust_ me!"

"The truth," Urbert said, his face reddening, "like the things told to us by the sorcerer there? Murders committed, monsters and criminals freed? He acted as a law unto himself, and you have given him the freedom to keep doing it!"

"Not so!" Arthur returned forcefully. "I have given him the freedom to place himself under the law and trust in fair treatment! He need no longer act alone to defend those he loves against threats they cannot hope to defeat without him, he need no longer hide and lie about how he does it."

"You're enchanted," Urbert said bluntly.

And Arthur had never wanted to hit someone in the face with his fist, as much as he wanted to in that moment. He keenly regretted that it was a lord he was dealing with, rather than a knight, and he could not throw a glove at Urbert's feet and beat him black and blue in the arena.

"He's clearly not," Emund inserted mildly, addressing his fellow nobleman – and it surprised Arthur into releasing his temper. "Use your head, Urbert, not your spleen. Merlin is clearly currently incapable of holding an enchantment over anyone. This is your king you are dealing with, and please God the only one we'll have for the rest of our lives."

Urbert drew himself up, eyeing Arthur as if he'd never seen him before – or at least not for a very long time. And Arthur understood why his father had always dressed so formally, and often wore the crown. To remind.

"Convene the council if you like, to discuss the druid presence in Camelot," he said. "But they are my guests, and are to be treated accordingly."

Urbert seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then swallowed his pique – almost choked on it – performed a perfunctory bow and spun on his heel to storm out the door.

"I wouldn't worry about him if I were you," Emund told Arthur, folding his hands over his paunch. "He sustained significant losses the last two times the blonde witch attempted to take Camelot – you know this, of course, you've read the reports. It's not that he truly believes magic is evil, he only fears that releasing the tight legal strictures on it, will cause more chaos and damage."

"Not if it's done correctly," Arthur said. "Slowly and carefully, I have to believe that."

Emund took a deep breath and looked Arthur over, much as Urbert had done, his lower lip drooping open over his beard in that misleadingly-foolish expression. Then said, "Magic really is going to return to Camelot, isn't it."

"One way or another," Bernard put in before Arthur could say anything. He was studying Merlin - hand still on the egg, gazing away in the air – with a frown on his face. "Your Majesty – when the druids come to perform their magic, it might be advisable if you had a witness for the council present. To observe."

And why did Arthur expect Bernard wanted to volunteer himself? "You may be right," he said only. "I'll have Sir Leon, as the current heir to the throne."

Bernard opened his mouth again, maybe to object, but - fortuitous timing –

"Sire?" It was Leon himself, at the open double doors. Maybe just coming from the training field; his red-gold hair was dampened slightly. "The druids have returned – Sir Brenner is escorting them to the physician's chamber to await you both."

"Very good," Arthur said, agreeing with their evident decision to visit the dragons'-egg at some appropriate time in the future. "Sir Leon, you'll accompany us, if you please. My lords, good day to you." All three men bowed, and he grabbed Merlin's wrist, tucking his hand into his elbow to lead him to the doors.

Just too late, he remembered that Merlin's other hand was still wrapped around the odd peak of the blue-white egg and looked back, expecting to see it dragged to a fall – Gaius' assurance about its durability at odds with instincts about what happened to eggs dropped on stone floors – and Merlin lifted his hand away from the egg lightly, almost caressingly, without so much as a bump, or wobble. Arthur sighed in relief, though there was still no spark of awareness in his friend's blue eyes; the others didn't seem to have noticed Arthur's worry.

On the way to Gaius' chamber, Arthur divided his attention between leading Merlin – he was in a hurry and didn't want his young friend, clumsy at the best of times, to have an accident unwittingly – and giving Leon a brief summary of the day's events.

Leon absorbed without question, murmuring interest and agreement, and finally inhaling in shared hopefulness. He stepped forward to open Gaius' worn wooden door for them; Arthur was surprised – then not – then a little nervous, to see so many gathered.

Gaius of course, standing with his back to them, holding something to the light of the window for examination. But also Gwen and Percival and Tobe, the boy standing on the bench by the table under the window, observing Gaius without getting in the old physician's way. And all three of the druids in a row at the opposite side of the room, hoods down but hands tucked inside their cloaks.

"Well, all right then," Arthur said, a bit awkwardly. "But _not_ Tobe."

The boy began to protest, but Gwen moved forward, snagging a basket and the boy's hand. "Come on, we can try for some rosemary."

"But I don't want to, I want to watch…"

"It'll be a dull business for the rest of us." The druid woman Shana spoke unexpectedly to the boy. "Nothing to see but the two of them sitting there like they're asleep – you won't miss a thing, I promise."

"Would you like to come with us?" Gwen said, just as suddenly, addressing the druid woman. "I mean – yes I know you're probably in the woods all the time and of course you probably know the healing herbs – unless of course you can heal with magic, but I only thought –"

"Yes," Shana said, interrupting Gwen's self-consciousness, and Arthur found himself inclined to smile. "Yes, thank you for the offer, it's – most kind of you."

"I will come as well," the dark-skinned druid declared, moving to follow Shana, who looked relieved to have his company – as Arthur felt, to have one less member of an audience.

Not so Tobe, or Gwen. But Arthur believed, it would be all right. Trust and friendship were based upon familiarity, after all, and that was only achieved through continued company.

Gwen passed her free arm around Arthur's ribs, rising up to whisper in his ear, "Good luck."

Something tight in his chest warmed and eased, though he noticed both druids seemed surprised and intrigued by a maid's intimacy with him. Let them make of it what they would; it would be only a matter of time before the world knew the truth. Six months counting down.

She stepped past him to hug Merlin one-armed also, pulling his head down to kiss his cheek, then pushing gently on his chest to return him to his full height.

"It'll work, I'm sure it'll work," Tobe was telling her as the two druids followed them out the door.

Leon closed it behind them. And deliberately set the bar in place, turning to take a guard's stance, meeting Arthur's eyes determinedly.

"Yes, I think so, Sir Leon, thank you," Gaius agreed, handing the item he'd been examining to Iseldir, silver chains trailing over their hands. "Sire, if you could bring Merlin here…" Percival positioned a bench, and helped Arthur coax Merlin's body into straddling it. "Iseldir, perhaps you would prefer to explain the procedure to His Majesty?"

"Of course."

Iseldir opened his hand to show two crystals nestled together, each with a setting for a separate chain of braided silver strands. One was clear, presenting white in the angles of its facets. The other was black but not opaque – the lines of light from its partner crystal were visible through it, as Iseldir held it up, just as it colored the clear half when turned again.

"The Seowan crystals," Iseldir said. "One for the visiting mind, one for the host mind." He opened the chain of the black crystal, sliding it over Merlin's head while still holding the two pieces connected. "Nothing holds them together but natural resonance, so do be careful not to separate them. It maybe not be possible to realign their energies to function properly again, and if it occurred while you were in his mind – you might not be able to get back to yourself again." The druid indicated that Arthur should seat himself mirroring Merlin's position, knee to knee.

"About that," Arthur said. "How do I get in, and back out?"

"To enter his mind, you need only slip this chain around your own neck," Iseldir said, the silver strands draped across his fingers, though he still held the crystals together in his other hand. "You will remember who you are and where you are – that is, you will be aware that what you see isn't real, but only in Emrys' mind. You will find that you wear something similar there, and to disconnect from his mind, you need only pull that piece off over your head. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Arthur's heart was thudding in his chest, the rest of his body reacting like he anticipated entrance to an arena. Except, this was a fight with weaponry entirely foreign to him. Watching Merlin perform magic and trusting his friend was… not the same, as what he was preparing to do. What if… Arthur mentally stamped the doubt very far down.

"We will, however, limit the time for you," Iseldir warned him. "Too long is not good for you, no matter how you feel during the period of connection – exhaustion is a very real concern."

"I understand." Arthur glanced at his friends again; Gaius trying to be stern, Leon stoic, Percival impassive – but hope so clearly written on all three of them.

 _I can't let them down._

Arthur looked into Merlin's face – expressionless, and gazing somewhere in the vicinity of his left ear – and amended the thought.

 _I can't let him down._

He reached for the chain, opening it on the fingers of both hands as Iseldir positioned the conjoined crystals and prepared to release them.

It was like drawing a hood over his head. He inhaled, and felt the chain brush the back of his neck and –

Darkness descended.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Kilgarrah didn't answer. Though Merlin was quite sure, somehow, that he was near. He sensed _dragon_ , waiting and saying nothing. It was frustrating, and he didn't like to give up.

When he opened his eyes, it was to a sudden and bizarre dizziness, and he almost fell flat on his back, even from a seated position. It took him a long moment of blinking to make the cell-which-smelled-of-stable quit swimming in his vision.

Ally approached him from the center of her cell, kneeling on the other side of the bars that separated them, and something about that was disorienting, too.

"How long was I –" Merlin began, and couldn't think of a good word to describe what he'd attempted.

"Not long," she said. "Your friend?"

Merlin shook his head. "I think we're on our own… Those spells I tried earlier, though, were for opening doors – and did you notice, our cells don't have them?"

She frowned over her shoulder, troubled, and he thought, _How'd they get us in, then, if there aren't any –_

"Anyway, I thought I'd try a different one," he said. " _Athwinan thas heard_."

And – nothing happened. His magic wasn't gone, it just wasn't responding. Disconnected.

He made a sound that was equal parts grunt and sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Don't feel bad," she said to him, shifting from her knees to her hip, leaning into the bars.

"Haven't they brought food?" Merlin asked. _Or a bucket_ , he didn't say in front of a female. He wondered again how long he'd been occupied trying to reach Kilgarrah – odd that he'd lose track of time like that. Though he wasn't particularly hungry, either. "I suppose all we can do is wait…"

"Will you… talk to me?" she ventured shyly. "Tell me about… your friends?"

"Well," Merlin thought of one person that Ally might be most interested in. "There's Gwen, she used to be a lady's maid but she's assisting our court physician Gaius these days – he's another friend of mine – but if you ask me, it won't be long til she's more. Arthur's in love with her, you see, and now that Uther's dead –"

Her blue eyes widened and she tensed back from the bars, lifting her hands as if to cover her ears. "Not about _them_."

Merlin remembered, he wasn't at all sure Uther was dead… He could see very clearly an image of the old king lifeless upon his pillow, motionless under his blanket, Arthur seated by the bedside in his dark blue cloak, forehead bent on clasped hands, elbows on his knees, but. All ten fingers meant he hadn't been to trial – hadn't faced the questioner – killed the questioner?

"Tell me of your other friends?" she suggested softly, beginning to calm herself. "You mentioned knights… you said names. Lancelot. And Gwaine?"

"I thought they were knights, but…" Merlin examined his hands again, and shook his head, rubbing them together uneasily. "Never mind. Lancelot, I met him first. Out in the woods, a commoner coming to Camelot to learn how to be a knight."

He told her of the griffon and how Lancelot had saved him, how he'd tried to repay his new friend – though he kept the thought to himself, it was not meant to be, that way, not through deception it was much better now that Arthur had knighted him truly… or – one day would?... He told her of how Lancelot had seen and heard too much, the night they'd killed the griffon, that his friend had said nearly in the same breath, _I know_ , and _I won't tell_.

He told her about one day after a hunt, and a decision made for a mug of ale in a local tavern. He wished he could tell her of Arthur's part in that story, how he'd decided to mingle unknown with his people, and not for the first time, how he'd stepped between the tavern owner and a brigand without depending on his name – _I'm the king's son, Arthur_ – to save him.

Merlin told Ally of a stranger stepping in, though the odds were nowhere near their favor; stepping in days later to save Merlin from the fairly serious threat of two seeming lords who had been pleased to take justice into their own hands. And wished he could tell her how Arthur had spoken up for Gwaine, how he'd relinquished the glory of the melee win – and hadn't really seemed that upset to see Gwaine's face behind the helmet visor.

"They seem like true friends," Ally ventured.

"They are," Merlin said immediately. "I'd trust them with my life."

"So Lancelot knew of your magic – but did Gwaine?" She peered at him between the bars of their prison.

"Yes," Merlin said. "He found out just after I was executed, he looked after me – helped me look after… at least, I think… I have this memory that he didn't care about the magic. He cared about me. So, even if he doesn't know…" He inhaled, feeling a slight ache of pressure at his temples and behind his eyes, and hummed his frustration with his mental uncertainty. "Mm. Your turn. Tell me about your friends – your family? Someone who'll be missing you, in here? Where you come from?"

She startled back, eyes wide. "No, I don't have friends. It's too dangerous – they could find out about my magic."

Merlin smiled, remembering Will. And then Gaius… and then Lancelot. "It's good to have at least one friend who knows," he said gently. "People will surprise you, sometimes. And care about you, more than about the magic – say, is yours working in here?" She flinched again as he shifted abruptly to get his knees under him. "How much training have you had? Learned lots of spells?"

She didn't answer, only stared at him as if she suddenly suspected he meant to betray her to the guards or King Uther.

"Try that one I just used. _Athwinan thas heard_." She shook her head violently, turning away to get her feet under her and retreat to the middle of her cell. He coaxed, "Come on, Ally, just try. I promised not to let anyone hurt you, but if I can't get my magic to work – what about yours? It's all right to try – I've tried many new things, and they've all worked eventually. If you can remove the bars –"

She stepped closer again, tentatively reaching out, and he grinned encouragement.

"Don't touch it, your mind might convince you that you can't," he told her. "Close your eyes, maybe, that'll help –" She obeyed; her fingers were trembling. "It's okay. Take a deep breath, and let it out, and… _Ath-wi-nan thas he-ard_."

She took two breaths. Then spoke, " _Athwinan thas heard_ –" and as her eyes opened and glowed golden, two of the vertical bars that made up the iron grid between them, and one of the horizontal ones dissipated in a shimmer.

"Ha!" he said exultantly. "You did it! See, I told you, you could do it!"

Her fine peaked brows rose with her smile of excited achievement. She took a step closer, and her hand was firm. " _Athwinan thas heard_."

Another vertical, and two horizontal.

"Well done," Merlin said, pleased for her. "You should do the bars at the front of your cell, not here – you want to get out, don't you?"

Her hand dropped, and she eyed both walls of crossed metal bars as if seeing them for the first time. "But I can't… leave you."

"If you have to run, and leave me, to save your life, I want you to do it without a single look back, or regret," Merlin said, a bit sternly.

She gulped and nodded – understanding, if not agreement.

"But look," he continued, "I can probably fit through this gap here –" She retreated, once again showing fear, and Merlin paused in the action. "I won't, Ally, not unless you want me to. If you removed some bars on the front of your cell, though, you could get out and then I could follow, if you like? I'm sure I can take better care of you if I'm actually with you, yeah?"

She nodded, retracing steps slowly and hesitantly, hugging her arms to her body, and he smiled again.

"All right. Front bars?"

She turned toward the open guards' walkway, stretching out her hand – then screamed in absolute terror, scrambling for the furthest corner of her cell.

Merlin whirled – as Uther Pendragon stepped out from the blind corridor.

The king gave the cells – the two of them – a frowning glance, and demanded, "What is _this_?"

Merlin immediately ducked to thrust himself clumsily through the gap left by the bars Ally had removed, to enter her cell and shield her with his body. She was shaking like a leaf; he glared at the king with all the fire he could summon even magic-less.

"Stay back!" he spat desperately, feeling like he was seeing a ghost, himself.

"What the hell is going on here?" Uther said, covering bewilderment with an air of arrogant command, and looked back the way he'd come. "Are there guards here, too?"

Behind Merlin, Ally was moaning, "He's going to kill us, he's going to kill us, he's going to kill us - _Athwinan thas heard_!"

Light flooded the cells – which weren't actually all that dim – and Merlin twisted to see that Ally had removed a decent-sized chunk of the stone wall. Outside there was sunlight, and a grassy slope to the free forest.

"Hey, wait!" Uther protested, frowning.

"Do not follow us, Uther Pendragon," Merlin said with as much menace as he could manage – marking Ally's progress by the sound of her whimpers, and scrabbling over the stones and out. "I will not be responsible for what happens to you. Just – let us go."

Turning swiftly, he propelled himself through the uneven hole in the stone wall, before the king could call for guards to open the – door-less? – cells. Ally was cowering just outside, out of sight of the king; Merlin grabbed her hand and began to run for the forest.

Behind him, he heard the irate cry of his name – " _Mer_ lin!" – but didn't pause to look back at whatever part of the citadel they'd rendered vulnerable in their escape.

He wished he could have seen Arthur, instead. Later, maybe, when he'd gotten Ally to safety, he could return to watch over his prince in secret – there was that ruined castle that… Arthur had told him about, after…

For a time they only sprinted as fast as they could, as far as they could. Over roots and under branches and through bushes. Not a very long time – though when Ally gasped and pulled on his hand and he looked back, he could see nothing of the citadel or town.

"I can't! I can't do this!" There were tears on her pale cheeks. "I – I'm sorry!"

"You can, you can keep going –" Merlin's attempt at encouragement was cut short, as he faced forward again –

Just into a tree branch, it might be. Knocked himself right out.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Maybe he'd find Merlin lazily picking daisies in a wide field of wildflowers and thoroughly enjoying his unconscious time off. Maybe he'd find him locked in deadly magical combat with some indefinable monster.

Arthur hadn't expected prison. Or other people.

He didn't have a chance to speculate on the girl's identity – but if her scream of absolute terror unsettled him, it was nothing to what he felt at the look on Merlin's face. A face always so expressive it had often pained Arthur physically, to observe Merlin under this spell of empty serenity. But whatever expression he'd looked forward to seeing again, it wasn't this. He'd never seen _this_ , before.

It was a fearful, respectful sort of loathing of the sort a wounded or unarmed soldier might cast upon his enemy when he feels himself surrounded. It stabbed through Arthur's chest in multiple places, pinning his lungs to shoulder-blades and draining blood from his heart to a small sick place in the pit of his stomach.

And he could only blurt stupidity. What is this, what the hell is going on, are there other people here… wait… Merlin…

Who'd called him – what?

Arthur reached to seize the bars of the cell as if he could force his way through and follow and command answers, but –

The sight of his hands stopped him. They were the hands of a sixty-year-old man, spotted and gnarled. That startled him into looking down; he was dressed in the unrelieved black of mourning, and upon his chest hung two silver medallions that were unmistakable, though he'd never worn them.

Merlin had called him Uther. Had warned – threatened? – him.

Arthur reached with strange hands – trembling hands – to touch his face. The skin sagged everywhere, except for his forehead, where grew no hair. And, over his right eye, there was a thin vertical line like a scar, like –

Just like his father.

The realization smothered him, overwhelmed him – _I can't fight this battle, I can't I won't_ – and he was clawing at the medallions. They were Guilt and Responsibility, and he couldn't bear them, wouldn't bear their weight any longer. _Get them off, get them both off, get me back to myself, back in my own body –_

Bench between his knees, sunlight-brown room smelling of herbs. Someone else's body – Merlin – right in front of him. And swinging between them, the damn clear-and-dark crystals.

"Sire!"

"Arthur, hold on! Be careful!"

He growled, struggling to be free of the silver chain and the magic and there were strong hands holding him in place – helping him – He was free.

Arthur stumbled over the bench in retreating, realizing there were tears blurring his eyes and wetting his cheeks. Remembering his audience, he turned to the wall for a moment, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to reassert control, and turned the noise coming from his throat into something intentional.

"Sire?" That was Gaius, gentle hand familiar on his shoulder. "Are you all right? What happened? What did you see?"

"Gaius," he whispered. Not yet brave enough to drop his hands and look at them and face them. Look at Merlin. "Does Merlin think… I am just like my father?"

"No," the old man said, immediately and vehemently. Arthur let his arms swing down, and met Gaius' eyes over his shoulder. "No, he never did, not even in the beginning. You should know that, you should know he'd never dare speak to your father the way he spoke to you. Destiny or not, he wouldn't have fought for you and risked for you and _suffered_ for you, if he hadn't known, you were _good_ , and could be _great_."

Arthur nodded, latching to the old man's faith in a desperate attempt to make it his own.

"Come and sit," Gaius added. "Tell us what happened, what you saw."

He turned to the rest of the room – Percival and Leon stationed cautious and attentive at the table beside the bench, Iseldir carefully removing the second silver chain from Merlin. Who sat unmoved, vacant.

Arthur obeyed the insistent pressure of Gaius' hand to take two steps closer to the other men, but shook his head at the offer of Gaius' chair.

"Did you speak to Emrys?" Iseldir asked, coiling the chain and secreting the Seowan crystals somewhere within his cloak. "Did you explain about the enchantment?"

"He – didn't give me the chance," Arthur said, and cleared his throat because he didn't like the way his voice sounded. Admitting defeat. "I… evidently I appeared in his mind as Uther, and he fled from me."

Leon's eyes were wide; Percival looked at the seated sorcerer with a worried frown wrinkling his wide brow. Arthur wanted to shout his throat hoarse and swing his sword at targets until he was too exhausted to lift it – which might not be very long at all, the way his body felt – and then seek oblivion in sleep, himself.

"That's very interesting," Iseldir murmured.

Arthur felt his eyebrows go up at this unexpected reaction from the druid. "I beg your pardon. Why?"

"Where did you find him, if I may ask?" Iseldir said, not explaining.

"It was a prison cell –" Gaius inhaled, and Arthur assured both the old physician and Sir Leon, "not one I recognized, not one of ours. He was speaking to a girl, and when they saw me, he made his way between missing bars into her cell. Then they blasted their way through the stone and ran into a forest."

"Another person was there?" The druid's serenity shifted, betraying a moment of surprise.

"What does that mean, do you think?" Gaius asked, seating himself on the bench beside Merlin to check for signs of his physical health.

"It could very well be the person who wove the enchantment," Iseldir said. "In which case, it could also very well be her perception of you, Arthur, that influenced how Merlin saw you."

"You mean, she's persuaded him that I'm –"

"No, my lord, I mean literally. If she sees Uther when she looks at you, then so will Merlin, and not know the difference."

Arthur wasn't sure that made it any better. "But she was just – a young girl, maybe eighteen. She was terrified to see me – how could she be the source of the spell, what could she possibly gain from it?"

Surely everyone with magic would agree, a sorcerer in King Arthur Pendragon's circle of trusted confidants, was a good thing? What good would come of taking Merlin from Arthur, or persuading Merlin to leave voluntarily? The guilt he felt over how they'd parted, arguing about the dragon's egg, roiled inside him unpleasantly.

"A better question might be, how could she be there, if she wasn't the origin of the enchantment."

"Part of Merlin's imagination?" Leon suggested.

Iseldir shook his head at the knight, but spoke to Arthur. "Possibly if you entered an ordinary dream, or his conscious waking mind. But you entered the enchantment itself. Not even Merlin can _imagine_ someone else there."

Arthur took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, feeling like he should sit down. Or lie down, preferably, and sleep.

They were all watching him. He said, "I have to go back, then."

There really wasn't a point to adding, _Don't I_. The druids had no solution but, Emrys can free himself. Gaius' friend might have no better solution, and who knew about the dragon. Even if Merlin refused to listen to him as Uther Pendragon rather than the girl, refused to realize that he was trapped in his own mind and nothing he saw or did was actually happening. At least Arthur might be able to learn more about the young sorceress with short curly black hair.

"Not right away," Iseldir said gently. "What you've just done has taken a great deal of strength and energy – and from him, too, though it won't show."

"Tomorrow, Arthur," Gaius said.

Leon looked relieved; Arthur wasn't sure how he felt.

"Don't… uh, don't tell Gwen. Or anyone. The specifics, I mean, about… Merlin seeing my father. Say – the connection was lost before I could explain…" It made him feel ashamed to say; he added, "At least, not until I can try again. We might have… better news, then."

"Yes, sire." Echoed by the other three men.

And Arthur had never hated his title more.

 **A/N: Sorry no Gwaine. Probably I'll start the next chapter with that…**

 **Also,** _ **seowan**_ **means "link" in Old English, and** _ **Athwinan thas heard**_ **means "vanish this hard object", in case you were curious.**

 **After this story, I'm minded to do a modern a/u. I have two options right now with some scenes already written, so I've put up a poll on my profile… anyone who cares to weigh in with their opinion, it would be welcome!**


	15. The Responsible One

**Chapter 15: The Responsible One**

Belly full and body washed, Gwaine left Lancelot falling back into a healing sleep, and closed the door of their shared chamber behind him. He paused a moment – stair or corridor? – then followed the rhythmic sound of a bouncing ball.

The boy was seating against one wall of the corridor, tossing his toy against the opposite wall to catch – and looked alertly up at Gwaine.

"Mind bouncing it further that way?" Gwaine asked him with a grin, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "And keep your ear on my friend?" The boy scrambled up eager to comply, and Gwaine added, "And how do I get to the castle dungeon from here?"

"Down this hall, down the stair. Then you turn and there's a door…"

Gwaine memorized the boy's instructions. "Thanks, mate."

He'd left the crimson cloak in the room as too ostentatious, but the chainmail and his unfamiliar face were almost as good as an introduction. At least, the few servants and guards he encountered found smiles and nods for him – one pretty serving girl even inquired shyly after his needs, and under different circumstances he was sure he could have come up with _some_ thing – rather than stopping him and demanding explanations.

Past the door the boy had mentioned, the stairs were narrow and steep, the stone walls torch-lit and probably underground. He heard voices and at the end of another long, narrow, uniform hall, he found an open guards'-area, worn-but-solid table and chairs, and two men wearing their lord's red-gray-black chevron-patterned livery in a game of chance.

The one rattling the cup paused in surprise upon seeing Gwaine.

"Afternoon, boys," he said breezily. "How's the company?"

"Beg pardon?" the older of the two said. "Who are you, sir, and what business do you have here?"

"Sir Gwaine of Camelot," he said, noting access to two additional halls and a closed door from the area. He leaned casually on the wall across from the table, crossing his arms over his chest. "I need information on a criminal I'm told spent some time here recently."

The older guard frowned. "All due respect to you as a knight, but… steward's orders is, no one looks at the records but me, and him, and Lord Bernard."

"And you are?" Gwaine said pleasantly. Simultaneously searching his memory for a face to match the name – Bernard of Descalot… tall, thin fellow. Intense.

"I'm the Warden."

"Ah," Gwaine said. "And those orders, are standing orders? Descalot's policy?" The two men exchanged a glance, and Gwaine took a guess and a risk. "Or did Steward Shor- I mean, _Taul_ , just say that to make our jobs more difficult?"

The younger guard snickered at Gwaine's intentional slip of the tongue on the steward's name, hiding it behind his hand when the warden gave him a glance of disapproval, that almost hid the amusement lurking in the corners of his expression also.

"Steward was just down here, reminding me of my loyalties," he allowed. "You must've just missed him."

Gwaine made a thoughtful noise. "What if you didn't show me the records, then? I'd take your word as truth, best as you can remember."

The warden's brows drew upward slightly. "Well, then. Ask away."

"A thief by the name of Borden," Gwaine told him. "Anything you can tell me, about the charges or his sentence."

The warden glanced at his fellow guard. The younger man stared back blankly a moment, then jumped to his feet. "Oh! I'll get started on the afternoon rounds early, shall I?"

He rounded the table to disappear through the door behind them. The warden kicked one leg of the vacated chair in invitation, and Gwaine straddled it, leaning his forearms on the table companionably.

"Borden was caught… oh, a couple of weeks ago. Before Lord Bernard left for Camelot when the old king… y'know."

Gwaine nodded, and said leadingly, "Caught…"

"Thieving from His Lordship's private vault." The warden jerked his thumb to indicate direction. "They've got family crypts on the other side, and the treasury. Walls this thick –" he held out his hands to approximate – "and three locks. Room about as big as this, family heirlooms and revenues gathered to pay us with, y'know. Borden picked all three locks before they caught him."

"Filling his pockets with His Lordship's gold?" Gwaine guessed.

The warden rubbed a bulbous nose. "No, actually. One of the heirlooms, an odd piece like a rod of gold curled into a spiral."

"Was it really," Gwaine said neutrally, covering shock. Too bad Borden was dead; it was probably a story worth telling, how he'd discovered the location of all three pieces of the triskelion. "A magic piece, by chance?"

The warden didn't so much as flinch or squint. To him, it was a question like any other… and any given guard in Camelot's citadel would not be so relaxed about even a mention of a possibility. It said something about Descalot. "I dunno. Not that I heard, but…" He shrugged.

"Lord Bernard isn't so strict on magic here?" Gwaine said curiously.

The warden blew air from his nose, giving him an up-and-down glance, as if remembering where Gwaine came from. "I mean, there have been a few executions – though m'lord favors beheading rather than fire. More trials where the person accused is found innocent, though. It's not something we think about every day. Live and let live, and mind our own business, here."

Gwaine allowed a wry grin. "That's an excellent policy, actually." But didn't fit so well as a link to an attack on a sorcerer declared innocent by the king himself. "So Borden was locked up, and…"

"A few days went by, though we all expected a trial right off – Lord Bernard is keen on observing the forms of justice, even in a case as obvious as this one. But Borden gets called to a private hearing – only the lord and the steward present – and sent back down here. But, smug as a cat in the cream. Then, after Lord Bernard leaves for Camelot, the steward calls for Borden… and after that, he was never brought back down here."

"Escaped?" Gwaine asked.

The warden shrugged again, uncomfortable. "My boys all denied being the one tasked to bring him from the steward back down here. Steward himself, didn't seem much worried til you showed up. I myself figured on slipping a quiet word when His Lordship got back, let him deal with the mistake."

"That," Gwaine said, "is a story deserving of a round of ale." He slipped a coin from the purse under his belt – thank Arthur for a knight's pay – and placed it on the table. "Have a drink on me, and don't let on to the steward that you told the tale at all."

The warden squinted, one side of his mouth rising. "Lord Bernard's a good master," he said. "Steward's a good man, too, just… thinks a book education is better than a swordsman's experience."

Gwaine tossed a casual salute as he rose from his chair and turned to depart. "I appreciate it."

So Bernard had spoken to Borden in private. And after he'd departed for Camelot, Borden had slipped from custody following a meeting with Taul. With that piece of the triskelion, which meant… either Bernard or his steward had given it to the thief. Who had stolen a second such from the druids, and passed it into Arthur's care. Knowing that the newly-resurrected and hesitantly-accepted young sorcerer in Arthur's court would fuse the pieces and visit the tomb?

Still, Borden had stolen nothing from that tower. Had come armed with that enchanted arrow – and then fled with no further aggression, until ambushing the one knight following. Empty-handed, and right back here, as if to report… a successful mission?

Gwaine bypassed the open inner courtyard – Taul in his earth-red robe crossing, speaking urgently to one of the guards at one side and a plump, solid, older-looking woman on the other. She nodded in confirmation; Gwaine ducked down a separate corridor. A glance out a window confirmed his expectations, and he turned his steps in the direction of the dovecote.

From the lowest point of Descalot to the highest, he thought sardonically, climbing the seemingly endless stairs.

It bothered him that Lord Bernard was still in Camelot. Near Arthur, and trusted, when Merlin was vulnerable himself, and unable to protect the king. Steward Taul did not seem the sort to betray his lord's trust so completely, which meant he probably had not acted on his own. So what was the plan? For all Gwaine knew, Bernard could have killed Arthur and Merlin both by now…

He took the last stairs two at a time, smelling the dry musty odor of bird-feathers and droppings. A softly pervasive rustle-and-coo echoed with his boots, and he rounded a corner to an antechamber of the open tower room that housed His Lordship's messenger birds. A wide little man with no neck and a short reddish beard squatted upon a backless seat next to a writing-desk, its sides and surfaces marred with what Gwaine hoped were candle-drippings.

"Good afternoon," Gwaine greeted him. "I'm a knight of Camelot, just in to Descalot this morning. A message should have gone out just a few hours ago –"

"Right you are," the squat bearded man said cheerfully, slotting his quill back into the inkwell.

"I need another one sent," Gwaine said.

The cheerfulness dissipated. The pigeon fluttered, stepped about uneasily on the man's finger, and he lifted it to his shoulder. "I don't know what you're used to in Camelot, but we don't have an unlimited number of these delicate beauties to indulge your forgetfulness, whoever you may be. And anyway, no message goes out unauthorized by the steward."

Gwaine took a deep breath, and let it out, recognizing that the fowler was a different sort of man than the warden. A bribe would be rejected and reported to the steward, and Gwaine was not eager to find out what Taul would do when pressed. In his experience, men were at their most desperate to keep a crime covered when it was closest to being revealed.

"Never mind, then," he shrugged, and flashed a grin. "My apologies for my mistake."

The man relented slightly. "if the steward considers it important enough, we'll send it. Two birds in one day notwithstanding."

"So maybe if I ask him to sign my message and bring it back –" Gwaine tested.

There was a neck, for somehow it worked to twist the man's head in a negative response. "He'd have to be here himself to approve it."

"Ah. Well, I may be seeing you, then – or maybe not."

The fowler nodded; the pigeon cooed on his shoulder, and Gwaine turned on his heel to descend.

How long before Taul would know, that Gwaine knew he was blocking him because he was complicit? He'd have to seek him out, as a few inane questions, appear to accept the steward's evasions. Now, while Lancelot still needed care, the other knight couldn't very well ride out to return to Camelot. And Gwaine hesitated to leave him alone to Taul's dubious hospitality, especially if he roused suspicions with his departure alone.

Should he discuss it with Lancelot? he wondered. Emerging from the last corridor to the open inner courtyard again, he snagged an opportune apple from the basket of a passing servant – who never missed it – and headed to the stables. If he discovered that Steward Taul had given orders to restrict his access to his own mount… Gwaine didn't finish the thought, to what he would do.

There were two young stable-boys moving straw in a desultory fashion at the far end, but there was someone in the stall with his mount. A female someone, by the back of one shoulder, neck and head. Dark curls that didn't quite meet the shoulder, but without the scarf or veil favored by commoners to keep clean, and her clothing was the light gray of a raincloud, with no interrupting strap of an apron.

Interesting. Gwaine smiled, and leaned deliberately against the outside of the stall door, draping his forearms inside. The gelding stamped and whuffled; the girl turned to look at Gwaine with a solemn sort of curiosity, completely different from how girls usually looked at Gwaine.

"Good evening," he said engagingly. "What are you doing here?"

"I was asking your horse what sort of master you are," she told him frankly.

Gwaine felt his eyebrows rise, but the horse stepped closer, seeking the apple loosely held in his fist. He allowed the old boy to nibble his gloved fingertips for a moment, before offering the treat on his open palm. They both listened as the horse crunched softly, watched as he bent his head to seek bits that had been dropped. "He says only nice things, right?" Gwaine joked.

"He says fair things." She shifted her position in the front corner of the stall, to see him better. "You're Sir Gwaine, are you not. I heard Sir Lancelot was wounded in the leg, and you don't look it."

"Just Gwaine," he said. "The knighthood was recent, and I'm not comfortable with the title, yet." He snorted. "If I ever am. And you are… the Lady Descalot?"

"Lady Alayna," she said, without the barest twinkle of a smile in response to his most charming manners. "Lord Bernard is my father."

"My pleasure." He held out his hand; she hesitated, but good breeding evidently overcame reticence, and she surrendered hers for the salute of a quick light kiss. "I understand you haven't been feeling well lately, I hope you are better now?"

She turned her head to watch the horse without reply, and he took the chance to study her more closely. The lighting in the stable wasn't spectacular, but she looked pale, with faint lavender smudges under her eyes. Delicate, on the edge of frail.

"Are we to have your company at dinner tonight?" he asked. Her name had not been mentioned in the warden's story; he wondered how aware she might be of events in her father's castle.

She hugged her arms around herself in an absent-minded way, and shook her head. "I don't often leave my room, Sir Gwaine, please don't be offended."

"Really, it's just Gwaine," he said. "And I'm not offended… but maybe concerned?" She didn't react to offer more information, so he retreated from the topic. "Perhaps I should take my chance for conversation, now?"

She looked at him, and he noticed her eyes were a light blue, with a hint of gray, her features fine and her dark brows peaked in the center rather than curved. "What do you wish to talk about?"

Gwaine shifted his weight against the stall door, and didn't feel quite right about conducting even an informal interrogation. "It would be polite to offer answers to any questions you might have about the news of Camelot, at least."

A long moment passed, and he began to suspect that she was looking far deeper than folks normally did when facing him, even as young as she was. Maybe because she was young, and raised of necessity or choice in relative seclusion.

"What of magic," she said softly.

He felt his eyebrows rise again. And maybe also, his opinion of her. He repeated carefully, "Magic?"

"When my father was summoned to the council of the new king of Camelot," she said. "We heard also, a sorcerer had been acknowledged."

"You heard about Merlin," Gwaine said. "And you're curious." She simply looked at him, and he clarified, "About him? Who he is, and what it's like to be close to someone with magic?"

She relaxed her defensive posture enough to twine her fingers together in front of her waist. "What do _you_ think of magic," she said. "Sir Knight."

"I," he said, "have been highly privileged to befriend Merlin, personally. The quality of his magic – strong and instinctive and pure – is outmatched only by his personality, in my opinion. Both loyal and generous to a fault, he's also incredibly humble and unfailingly cheerful. I'd be his friend without the magic, and there's no one I'd trust more with that kind of power."

"So – you don't think magic's evil."

"No, I don't," he said. "It depends on the motivation of the user, as well as the outcome of the sorcery itself – if it's generally beneficial, or detrimental in its effect."

Her brows were down, with a wrinkle between, but she took a step toward him and leaned one shoulder on the stall door between them. "And isn't that a treasonous attitude? My father said, perhaps this king would chain a dragon also, but he'd never allow others to roam freely through the land… and that was, if the dragon hadn't chained him, first."

Gwaine nearly laughed out loud, though his mirth felt a little cynical, too. That was the question, wasn't it. Did Merlin control Arthur, or was it the other way around. It would take time til folks realized, it was neither. But the comparison to a dragon… on second thought, maybe wasn't so coincidental. But she never would have repeated her father's comment, if she knew of triskelion, tomb, or egg.

"That," he said," is a more appropriate statement that you might know. But also, it's wrong. Arthur knows Merlin best, it's true, but he looks to understand and allow more magic than just his, within the bounds of safety for all."

She searched his eyes. "Really."

"Really. Look…" Gwaine glanced behind him as the two stable-boys neared, their voices rising to a level where words were discernible. She followed his gaze, and when he unlatched the gate, she slipped out wordlessly. "The first time I met Arthur, it was in a… Well, maybe that isn't important. The second time I met him, though…" By unspoken consent, she accompanied him in a slow stroll away from the boys, toward the stable entrance. "Prince Arthur had ridden on a two-day journey with a single companion and in rough dress, over Camelot's border into hostile territory, to speak to the person who best knew the truth of Merlin's magic, even after he thought the execution complete."

"Who was that?" she asked curiously.

"Merlin's mother, Hunith. And _she_ –"

Alayna interrupted him, clutching his sleeve and stopping dead in the middle of the stables. "He has a _mother_?"

Gwaine remembered that Alayna's ladyship was probably due to her mother's death. "Yes, and she's very –"

"Does _she_ have magic?" Alayna demanded.

"Not a bit," Gwaine said. "Which makes her even _more_ amazing, for having raised such a son as Merlin, and Arthur thinks so, too. Talked to her all afternoon, and slept on her floor that night, though she tried to make him take the bed."

"Prince Arthur slept on the…" she repeated faintly.

And he finished for her, "Floor of a peasant's hut." He patted her hand on his sleeve, and used it to draw her along, back toward the waning daylight. "I wouldn't say that he deserves Merlin's loyalty – but he does try. And at least, he appreciates and values it."

She gave him a mildly incredulous look.

He amended with a grin, "When he isn't being an arrogant and entitled ass. That's a joke, my lady. He did not have to offer me knighthood, and I swore my fealty gladly."

"What of the rest of Camelot, though?" she asked, as they emerged from the overhang of the stable's roof, into the inner courtyard. "They were all as open-minded as you? Merlin never had to fear for –"

The clatter of hooves echoed from the open portcullis, and Gwaine – the memory of Merlin emerging from behind Leon's shoulder to show bruises swollen and purple on his face, clear in his mind – was glad not to have to answer her question. Less glad, to recognize one of the two red-caped knights who'd arrived in Descalot. Both were wide, short men – one nearly as blond as Arthur, the other covered nose to nape in thick red-brown hair. Arrok, and Carados.

Alayna had stopped walking, though neither of them, out of the population of the courtyard, was dressed to catch the attention of the newcomers. She looked at Gwaine uncertainly.

"A word of advice, my lady," he said. "Don't discuss magic with Sir Arrok – the light-haired one. He's pretty set against."

She looked back at the pair, dismounting now to speak to an attendant guard – and probably a boy had been sent for Steward Taul. "I feel my indisposition coming on," she told Gwaine, and absolutely without humor. "Please give them my apologies, as well as Descalot's welcome."

And gathering her skirt, she slipped away to merge with the courtyard's gray twilight shadows, and disappear.

Gwaine sighed, and turned back to his two newly-arrived fellows. At least Taul wasn't in sight yet. He raised his voice to hail them, jogging to pass the attendant beginning to lead their mounts to the stable, and joined Arrok and Carados.

"What news from Camelot?" he asked. Carados accepted his hand; Arrok ignored it, stretching and gazing around the courtyard.

"His Majesty was concerned you might require extra aid," Carados explained.

"Merlin?"

Arrok sneered. Carados gave him an almost-glare and told Gwaine, "Still sick when we left." Gwaine growled in dissatisfaction to hear it, and the younger knight added, "What of your quest?"

"Lancelot killed the attacker days ago, but took a wound in so doing." Gwaine caught the flutter of earth-red robe from the corner of his eye, and though he regretted misleading young Carados, added deliberately, "I've asked some questions, but that seems to have led nowhere. I'm sorry you may have wasted your time riding out."

"At the very least, we can stay til Sir Lancelot is well enough to return with us," Carados said solicitously.

Nearly interrupted by Taul's self-introduction, and Arrok looked both relieved and gratified to be the object of the man's obsequiousness. Gwaine smiled, vacant and genial, to the steward's sharper glances, and trailed the others toward the dining room for the offered service of the imminent evening meal.

He could hope that Arrok would keep Taul both occupied and pacified, while his own continuing investigation was hidden under the guise of slipping into more common habits. If the town had a tavern, it would be a place to start asking after Borden's past, and any possible connection to whatever magic-user had constructed the arrow's enchantment.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…

Arthur was frustrated. Had been all day, and now was nearly exhausted by it. And still, plodding up the tower steps to the physician's chamber, frustrated.

His two current guards silently took up positions outside the chamber. The door was ajar and Arthur out of his chainmail; he slipped halfway through the gap, enough to observe the chamber but attract no notice, himself.

Well, almost. Percival rode a chair on two legs in the near corner, tipped against the wall and lax. He opened his eyes – met Arthur's – closed them again without a change of expression. Arthur felt both proud and guilty; Percival had taken his assignment so seriously that he slept on the floor of Merlin's little back room next to the unconscious sorcerer on the bed, ready at any instant to protect him if need be – or maybe just to make sure he wasn't too warm or cold, since Merlin wouldn't move to adjust his own body's temperature. Arthur did not know many of his knights who would sleep willingly on a servant's floor, to guard and serve him. Even less a sorcerer's, probably.

Gaius stood at his work-table, hunch-shouldered as his hands moved slowly about the tasks he set them. Arthur recognized a certain attitude of coping-by-keeping-busy that he himself had been employing. Gwen and Tobe were playing dice at the side table under the darkened window, by Merlin who was seated in his customary place, one forearm rested on the table. Motionless, eyes vacant.

The Seowan crystals hadn't worked again.

Not that morning when Arthur had come first thing, nor an hour before noon, nor mid-afternoon. Arthur had seen nothing but darkness when the silver chain descended around his neck, had heard nothing but his own voice, calling uselessly for Merlin, challenging and then pleading with the young sorceress, unheeded. Felt nothing around him but the unwelcome reminders that he resembled his father. Corded hands, padded waistline, hairless forehead. Scar, and medallions.

Iseldir's best guess was that Arthur's earlier appearance had scared the sorceress, and she'd withdrawn her presence from the enchantment, in which case, there was nothing to perceive. Though Merlin continued as before, breathing and moving, eyes blinking and heart beating, Arthur worried, deep down, that she hadn't just tricked or distracted Merlin's mind, that she'd taken or killed it.

He worried that he'd done something to the crystals themselves, ruined their alignment or something, and they'd never work again. That he'd never get Merlin back.

And the question that was eating him from the inside was, why. There seemed to be no logical benefit derived from such an enchantment, no motive to make a guess as to identity.

No word from Gwaine. And it might take another two days if Arthur were to send a messenger after them with at least a physical description of the girl – except that, if Arthur could appear as someone else, so could she…

"Gwen, do you mind giving me a hand with this?" Gaius said from the work-table, without turning.

"Of course." She rose and crossed to him, graceful and capable with a bleached apron over her apricot-colored dress. Joining him at his side, she never noticed Arthur at the door; he still said nothing as she bent over the table for the material or equipment Gaius needed, understanding without further direction from the old physician.

Tobe plopped the pair of dice into the leather cup, and picked up Merlin's hand to wrap his long fingers around it. Holding one small palm over the mouth, and keeping Merlin's hand in place with the other, he laboriously shook the dice in their container – and most of Merlin's upper body – before releasing the game pieces to the tabletop.

And the boy ignored the result of the cast to watch Merlin intently.

Then climbed from bench to table, on hands and knees and nearly nose to nose with the sorcerer, staring into those empty blue eyes. Then dropped and shuffled to a position on his back on the table, knees up and hands raised to either side of Merlin's jaw, to gently draw his face down, looking at him upside-down.

Arthur wondered if he should intervene. But Tobe never once snickered, or behaved like he was amusing himself at Merlin's unwitting expense, just… conducted his own childlike investigation. The fuzzy-haired boy rolled to hands and knees again, ducking to see Merlin's eyes as his head remained tilted down, as before.

Then, abruptly, the boy screamed at the top of his lungs, right into the ear poking through the unkempt black hair. " _Merlin_!"

Percival nearly unseated himself, startling fully awake. Glassware clattered on the work-table, and both Gaius and Gwen gasped aloud. Arthur felt his heart pounding in his chest in reaction.

Merlin didn't move. Kept breathing at the same methodical pace.

"Tobe, you can't keep doing that," Gwen scolded lightly. "You know it doesn't do any good."

"And I warned you," Gaius took up the reprimand more sternly. "The next time would be the last time, didn't I?"

"Oh, Gaius," Tobe grumbled, clambering reluctantly down from the table.

"Off you go." The old man was adamant.

As the boy turned disconsolately toward the door, Arthur pushed it further open to allow him to pass. Tobe's eyes widened to see the king there, and though Arthur didn't say anything, he skipped hurriedly past, clattering away on the stairs.

Gwen said, "Oh, Arthur, I didn't hear you…"

Arthur moved forward into the room, gaze focused on her and Gaius, who'd shifted to see him too, but keeping Merlin in the side of his vision. Gaming cup empty in the hand that rested on the table.

"I thought… we could try again?" he said.

Gwen glanced at Gaius, and Arthur appreciated that the old man did not show more sympathy. "The druids have already retired for the evening," Gaius said. "They took the Seowan crystals with them."

"Ah," he said lamely. Only now remembering the dinner tray that was no doubt considerably cooled, waiting for him on the table in his own chamber.

"It is late," Gwen said, untying her apron and removing it. "Elyan will be wondering where I am…"

"Tell him he should be making dinner for you," Percival commented quietly from the corner, and she threw him a wry smile as she hung up the apron for another day.

"Good night, my dear," Gaius said. "Thank you for your help – I'll see you again in the morning."

Gwen stepped to the table to hug Merlin about the neck, kiss his temple and whisper something in his ear. Then gave Arthur a sad smile as she paused by him to take the hand that dangled uselessly at his own side.

"You have got to stop kissing other men," Arthur said lightly, because he felt anything but.

Her smile grew into something more genuine, as a reward for him. "I will when he can actually feel it, and knows I'm doing it. But if it will make you feel better…" She rose on tiptoe and he bent slightly, kissing her round soft cheek as he felt her lips on his, in spite of how long it had been since he'd shaved. And it did make him feel better, though she was gone the next minute.

"Has he eaten?" Arthur said into the awkward silence of the room.

"Yes – Tobe wanted to do that, actually. He's not bad at it," Percival said, without lowering his chair.

Gaius set down whatever potion he'd been examining through the glass of its bottle, and faced Arthur fully. "Iseldir and Shana determined that the crystals are still perfectly aligned," he said. "Another attempt to reach Merlin, come tomorrow morning, is certainly warranted."

Arthur nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, wanting to look anywhere but Merlin, and unable to. "How is he… otherwise."

Gaius huffed. "It is frustrating to a physician, to have a patient who cannot communicate any level of pain or discomfort, but he seems in good health generally. For tonight, though, sire…"

Percival thudded his chair to the floor and rose, looking over Arthur's shoulder at Gaius. "I was just about to help Merlin to bed, sire…"

"No," Arthur said suddenly. "Let me." _Let me help, let me do_ something… He crossed to the bench and removed the cup from Merlin's loose grip.

"Arthur?" Gaius said, surprised.

"I'm not going to break him, Gaius." He'd seen others do this, though he'd done less personally. Guide Merlin's legs to the outside of the bench, swiveling the lanky body, grab the upper arms to lift him to his feet. Claim an elbow to lead him to the three stairs, and nudge him to take the upward steps.

"There's wash-water already in there," Gaius informed him, and if it was also a warning, Arthur ignored it. Percival was at his side when he turned, handing him the candle with quiet dignity.

Prodding Merlin through the door, he kicked it closer to shut, to block out the low voices of Gaius and Percival – though neither was a talkative man, he could guess pretty closely at the subject of their conversation, and knew he didn't want to overhear. Or for them to.

Placing the candle next to the washbasin, Arthur reached to begin a process of ministration he'd never performed for another before.

Untie the belt, loosen the shirt laces. Awkwardly manhandle Merlin's long arms out of the sleeves.

"I am quite sure," Arthur grunted, warm with embarrassment at how inept he was, though there was no one to see, "that I never made _this_ particular chore, this difficult for you."

Merlin simply stood, and stared, and with the shirt out of the way, it was a little easier. Soap and water and cloth. There were half a dozen tiny white lines on Merlin's chest that caught the light – mute testimony of _what I would do for you_ – and he couldn't help thinking of his friend, bound in the questioner's chair.

His magic blocked, but. _Merlin is different, it could not hold his magic back entirely, though it greatly interfered with his control_ , Gaius had said. Evidently Merlin was powerful enough to incinerate his bonds and end the one who threatened him.

"Come on," Arthur said quietly, close to Merlin's ear. "I know you can do this. I know you can end this. And you know I'm not talking about taking care of yourself, and giving yourself a bath. _I_ am serving _you_ , Merlin, and… _you're missing it_."

Arthur sponged Merlin's body, drying as he went, and it made him think of other times his manservant had done this for _him_. After patrols and tournaments and feasts. When he was wounded, ill – when his father had died.

Where had he been, the night after Merlin's father died? Oh… they'd gone to face the great dragon. He hadn't dared to hope for victory, then; he hadn't seen any way they could win except… some combination of grit and luck, and _I've never actually failed, before_.

There was a thin white cotton shirt at the foot of Merlin's bed, and Arthur dropped it over his head, mussing the black hair, trying to shove those gangly – and now damp – arms through.

"You'd say," he growled, "Come on, Arthur, it's not that hard. Other people manage to do this all on their own."

The shirt was crooked, and wouldn't straighten. Arthur gave up; Merlin wouldn't feel it anyway. He backed Merlin to his cot and pressed him down to sitting. Then knelt to unbuckle the boots he'd had made, special, as a thanks-for-getting-me-to-my-coronation present for the best friend he'd ever had.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I could. Maybe, even if you were awake, you'd want to take that egg and hatch it somewhere in the mountains with that other one and… talk about how self-centered and heavy-handed all Pendragons are. But… dammit."

Arthur resisted the urge to fling the boots across the room, and instead set them carefully at the foot of the bed, pausing only to draw his sleeve across his eyes. Then lifted Merlin's legs, twisting his body on the bed. Tucked the blanket over his socks. Rising slightly, he bent to lower Merlin's shoulders to the bed, and positioned the pillow so the body could relax for a comfort not felt. Merlin's blue eyes gazed innocently at the ceiling, and Arthur sighed.

 _Look. See me. Magic and Merlin. Arthur and…_ whatever Merlin saw and understood, when he looked at Arthur.

"You know I still need you. All right, I said it, are you happy now? I cannot rule without emotion, it is breaking me to be separate from everyone. But that is _not_ how I was raised and trained to rule and it scares me, honestly, to try it any other way because what if I…"

Arthur controlled a slow exhalation.

"But this isn't about me, right now. You need us – me, I guess, if that isn't what you'd call arrogant – whether you know it or not. So we're going to keep taking care of you…" Merlin blinked at the ceiling, and Arthur snorted. "See, you still get me to talk about feelings, and admit that I care."

One more moment, and why was he still waiting for Merlin to make a voluntary move, turn his head on the pillow and grin to have caught Arthur in a moment of rare vulnerability that Arthur would then insist never happened, because the more he protested, the surer Merlin would be of the expression of emotion. Arguing about it was a strange way of drawing it out and establishing it, but he rather thought Merlin understood, and liked their way, too.

Though, not at the moment, for all that Arthur could tell.

So he reached to close Merlin's eyelids - and shuddered to think how very like the last courtesy for the dead, the gesture was. For a moment he rested his hand on Merlin's chest to feel the soft steady rise-and-fall, the indomitable thub-thub-thub.

"Good night, Merlin. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a new day…"

He left the candle for Gaius or Percival, if they checked Merlin at night. And because he knew the traces of tears probably showed, he marched through the physician's chamber without glancing at either other man, and shut the door very firmly behind him.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Many people thought, Gwaine loved the drink. Loved the carousing for its own sake, and drank merely to further the good time. Or maybe to cover a dark past, who knew?

He smirked at the company gathered in Descalot's dining hall. Many people were wrong. Occasionally the ale or mead could dull a pain or pass the loneliness, but it was all about the company, really.

And this company – aside from Carados, maybe, but he was young and entirely too focused on the perceived propriety necessitated by his title – was very dull, indeed.

Taul and Arrok seemed to get along very well, and though Carados was more reserved, he remained with the two of them. The guards, Gwaine supposed, could be interesting individually, but as a group and he on the outside – oh, the irony – as a knight, this wasn't the time or place for making friends or asking questions.

So Gwaine retired early, unnoticed as he gave the dining hall a last glance over his shoulder.

And found, to his surprise, the two people in residence in Descalot that he would care to spend time with, in each other's company.

Quiet at the door, he paused to see the slim gray-clad figure in the chair he'd left at Lancelot's bedside, leaning her elbows on the mattress, hands clasped to support her chin, and Lancelot up on his side to face her in quiet conversation. Gwaine grinned to himself, watching them for a moment though he couldn't hear their words. Lancelot was just the sort of solemnly compassionate man to soothe the girl's wariness, and Lady Alayna the perfect bedside companion for a wounded man – not loud or silly or brisk.

But… probably it wouldn't be too long before Carados at least returned, and probably Arrok not too far behind him. Gwaine cleared his throat and kicked at the bottom of the door in opening it further, closing it behind him deliberately before turning.

"Ah," he said, strolling further into the room. "Lady Alayna. I see you found company for dinner after all. I hope the conversation was satisfactory?"

She tipped her head thoughtfully, looking at Gwaine; Lancelot was an unusual shade of _blushing_.

Now that was interesting for many reasons, too.

"Yes, thank you," Alayna said, rising from her chair. "Sir Lancelot, I hope I may speak with you again? Perhaps when you are feeling better…"

"Of course," Lancelot said, "For that pleasure, I shall be on my feet tomorrow."

"Please don't rush," she told him, and meant every word. "Good night."

"Good night… my lady."

As she slipped past him, Gwaine told her, "The others aren't far behind me. Otherwise I wouldn't have interrupted."

She paused to search his eyes, then glanced behind her at Lancelot, lifting up off the bed to watch her leave. "It surprises me to admit, but… I am glad you're here." Offering a tiny smile – the first of its kind – she moved past him and through the door, pulled open only enough to allow her slim body to pass.

"Huh," Gwaine said, turning on his heel to saunter to his friend's bedside. "Now that, is a very pretty girl." He tipped the chair and spun it backwards to straddle and lean against its back. "I wonder if she likes –"

"Gwaine, don't," Lancelot said, with more force than was characteristic of him. "She's not… like other girls. You shouldn't… tease her or try to make her laugh, or…"

"If you don't," Gwaine said, making him a light-hearted but serious promise, "I am going to."

"What?" Lancelot said, shuffling himself up to sitting, leaning on one hand. His thick dark brows were down in honest confusion, and Gwaine shook his head.

He wasn't blind, and he wasn't stupid. He knew that Lancelot had recognized the worth of a certain girl in Camelot, and harbored not-so-secret feelings though the girl herself had fallen for another. And, he had to admit, the young prince-turned-king seemed to realize that he could do no better than to make Guinevere his queen. Arthur knew his luck, and was smart enough not to waste it. Which left Lancelot… in desperate need of someone else to fall in love with. In Gwaine's opinion.

"Lady Alayna," he said. "She seems very fond of you."

"I thought she was the healer's assistant," Lancelot mumbled, his dark complexion still slightly reddened.

"Daughter of Lord Bernard," Gwaine corrected. So it wasn't the first time the two had met… "What were you talking with her about, anyway?"

"Arthur." Lancelot relaxed back against the headboard, looking away from Gwaine and covering his expression with something Gwaine recognized.

"Well, you can hardly blame her," he said, cheerfully devilish. "Arthur is the second-best-looking man in the entire kingdom. The king. And unmarried. She'd hardly be alive and in possession of all her wits if she wasn't… curious."

"It wasn't like that," Lancelot protested. "She was asking about Merlin, and magic, and what their interaction is like."

"Hm," Gwaine said. "Did you tell her about Gwen?"

Lancelot's calm was broken by sudden alarm. "What? What do you mean? What about Gwen?"

Too easy, at times. Just, too easy. "I mean, it's probably only a matter of time til Arthur announces that he's courting her for queen. Alayna will have to overcome her disappointment, and set her sights… elsewhere. The best cure for a broken heart is love."

Lancelot snorted. "You'd know."

"And you," Gwaine said, pointing at the other knight for emphasis, even as he rose to prepare himself to take the next bed for the night, "would do well to remember it, and take my advice."

His friend huffed again, and shifted himself lower in his own bed for a more comfortable position. But after a moment, when Gwaine sneaked another look at him, his expression was… thoughtful.

And Gwaine grinned to himself again.

 **A/N: Sorry no Merlin, this time – but extra Gwaine & Lancelot!... And I'm planning on more Merlin&Arthur next chapter, and after that I don't think it will be long til the enchantment unravels… which isn't really a spoiler, we all know it has to eventually…**


	16. A Chance to Listen

**Chapter 16: A Chance to Listen**

If Arthur wasn't said to be Courage itself – though maybe the bridge-keeper had gotten it wrong – he might have admitted that he was afraid to open his eyes, this time.

What if… what if… Those crippling doubts would not stay banished.

He fingered the thick chains of his father's medallions on his chest, and squinted.

Bright, and green.

Inhaling suddenly, he allowed his eyelids to fly up, filling his vision with the scenery of the forest. Fairly level floor, thick spring-to-summer foliage. But nothing that he recognized – turning around on the spot – as being anywhere close to Camelot. No birdsong, no small-animal bustle. No breeze, though it wasn't exactly hot, either.

And no Merlin.

Arthur frowned, turning again to search more thoroughly, picking visually through underbrush and low branches as best he could, as far as he could, but saw no person. According to Iseldir, the world woven as a trap for Merlin's mind would not be large, but might not be stationary. Which meant that if it reformed with Merlin's movements inside it, wherever Arthur found himself, it wouldn't be far from the physical manifestation of his friend.

He hoped that also meant, Merlin couldn't deliberately avoid him, either. He cast about himself on the forest floor, looking for signs of passage – followed instinct a few steps, and heard a twig-crack, followed by a quick rustle like a bird taking to flight.

Except, there weren't any birds here. Were there?

Flash of movement, and Arthur's feet were moving before he consciously directed them, prowling quickly and silently forward.

Another snapping branch, crash-crackle, off to his left. He halted, scrutinizing the forest in that direction.

This, wasn't going to work, he realized. He could chase the two magic-users the entire time Iseldir allowed him, and never so much as lay eyes on either. Or he might, and cause them to lash out magically in perceived self-defense. The sorceress at least, probably knew he was a threat to her enchantment, whatever she intended to do with it, and Merlin.

So, he should say something.

What should he say?

Arthur slowed his steps deliberately, watching the ground – footprints, kicked leaves, overturned stone – flicking his glance upward to the distance as he tracked.

He could play it like he was Uther, claim to have had a change of heart and apologize – and it made his heart ache to think, they wouldn't believe that. He could maybe, fabricate some threat to Camelot or himself as Arthur, to get Merlin to speak to him face to face. He might believe Uther would stoop to magic in the direst of straits. Except, how could he then tell Merlin, _I'm really Arthur and this is an enchantment?_

Another _snap…flutter_ caught his attention, and hunter's instincts pulled his steps to deviate slightly from his original course.

"Merlin," he said aloud.

And was hit by a memory that nearly curled him over and left him gasping. A beech wood, not very unlike this, and he searching, hunting for the proof that the friend he'd lost wasn't _gone_.

 _Heaven and hell. Please let me see you._

"I simply wish to exchange a few words of mutual interest," he said, louder now. Merlin would see Uther, but would the sorceress know he was really Arthur, the son? "To negotiate, if that seems worthwhile to you."

 _And find out, what the hell she wants._

"I swear to you," he added, "upon my fathers' graves, I will observe peaceful truce conditions, and trust you will do the same. I go unarmed–" as Arthur's father often had in his memory, unless battle was joined in the citadel or lower town, though Arthur far oftener buckled his sword-belt around his waist – "and unaccompanied. I mean you no harm, as long as your own intentions are peaceful. I just… it is extremely important that I speak to Merlin."

He waited. Nothing happened.

Instinct pulled him to another slight change of direction, and he followed, several more yards before repeating his earlier offer, loudly enough for his voice to carry.

Because he honestly didn't have any better ideas.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin woke slowly, to a nauseatingly blurry world, and the conviction that he'd dreamed of Arthur. Lost in the darkness and calling his name, and he'd been trapped in a poison-fever, unable to properly respond.

He lurched upright, immediately recognizing his surroundings as somewhere in the forest, his mind skipping vaguely over possible explanations of _hunting – patrol - quest_ … exile?

But his eyes fell on the girl in gray, huddled on a fallen log, arms hugging her knees and a haunted trepidation in her eyes. Oh, right. Ally the other prisoner with magic, and the escape from the dungeons of Camelot, and he'd –

He raised his hand to brush his fingertips over his forehead – then rub harder. No broken skin of a scrape, no bruised lump where he'd run into a tree.

"Are you all right?" she said to him.

Merlin sighed. "I guess so," he admitted. How odd, to be troubled by the fact that he couldn't sense an injury. "I'm sorry, I thought for a minute that Arthur – that I'd heard Arthur –"

Belatedly he remembered her violent disinclination to discuss Pendragons, but she didn't flinch or startle, to betray any increase to her habitual anxiety. Maybe being free and away from the threats of Camelot had something to do with that.

"It's all right," she said in a low voice. "If you want to talk about him, I mean. You were his servant, weren't you?"

"I was," he said, leaning forward and drawing his legs in to a more comfortable seated position on the ground. "Through bad times, and good. Less bad and more good as time went on, though…"

"How come he didn't come to see you," she said, as belligerently as a shy young girl alone in the forest with a stranger could manage. "In the dungeon. How come he didn't? He must be just like his father, hating magic. Fearing it."

"No," Merlin said immediately. But then – so much was mixed up, in his head, and trying to focus made his temples ache. "Look, why don't we – get you back to your home, your family, and we can… talk more on the way? Where do you live?"

"North," she said, glancing over his shoulder before rising gracefully to her feet.

He scrambled up more clumsily, got his bearings, and headed north, keeping his stride something she could manage for a time, also. "I told Arthur not to hate, and he promised. And anyone can be afraid of what they don't understand, and aren't familiar with."

"That's so," she agreed quietly, her eyes on her footing.

"But Arthur, he didn't want me to die. He told me to run, he told me I was an idiot for _not_ running away, but I couldn't. Because a king, you know, a king needs to know the truth, to be able to rule justly. The truth about magic. Uther felt betrayed and fought back, but Arthur – Arthur just didn't understand, you see, and that was my job, to show him that magic isn't evil. He would have tried to help me escape – and you, too, he's done that before with -"

"So you'd owe him your life, and do anything he said," Ally commented, with a hint of bitterness.

Merlin snorted. "I rarely did anything he said, even before he knew about my magic. And Arthur – I'll tell you a secret, Ally, that his bark is worse than his bite. He could've had me flogged, could've had me beheaded on more than one occasion, but Arthur? he only punished me with more chores. Excessive maybe, and ridiculous sometimes, but it was only Uther who ever even had me in the stocks, as much as Arthur threatened."

Ally was watching him with a curious look on her face. "You talk as though you… like him," she said. "As a friend. As you talk about Sirs Gwaine and Lancelot."

Sirs. Were they then knights? Or did she only say that because he said he'd thought it…

"He is," Merlin said. "He's going to be a great king. The best Albion has ever seen."

"You really believe that," she wondered, glancing from his face, back behind them, and returning her gaze to him as they walked through the woods. For his part, Merlin was glad of the chance to convince another magic-user that there was no need to fear Arthur, and every reason to trust.

"Yes. I mean, he's only human, so he makes mistakes, and worries about the wrong things, and sometimes acts like a spoiled stubborn prince, but… he does try to do the right thing, as best as he can figure it."

"I think," she said, as if hesitant to offend him, "the same could be said of King Uther?"

Merlin made a thoughtful noise. "I suppose you could stretch that to fit, but… Uther never listened to anyone else, especially about magic. Arthur listens, and understands. I think his rule is going to be stronger for having men who feel perfectly safe disagreeing with him, but then follow him anyway because the sort of king who listens before deciding is worth following. Up to and into the gates of hell, if necessary. For the good of everyone."

"Everyone without magic," she said.

"Peaceful and productive citizens," he countered. "Magic can be frightening and violent, if it isn't understood and properly controlled."

She stopped, glancing back the way they'd come before narrowing her blue-gray gaze at him. "So that's what _you_ want," she said. "To be the one in control of the magic in Camelot."

He made a face. "No, thank you – I have rather enough responsibility going on without _that_. I just mean, that everyone controls their own magic to what is good and beneficial, not selfish or deceptive."

"And what if someone makes a mistake," she said, her brows tilting down and her voice little more than a whisper. "What if you do something with one intention, and – maybe you don't know everything about the situation, maybe you realize later that it might _not_ have been the right thing like you thought, like maybe you were told and you trusted and believed –"

Merlin was a little taken aback by her sudden spate of words – remembered that she'd done something to be imprisoned for – and completely forgot her question, at the unexpected call of his name.

He spun around, almost unbalanced, as she shoved him against the trunk of a wide old oak, using it to shield her own body as she looked back the way they'd come yet again.

"What is it?" he hissed.

She didn't answer, only bit her lip in uncertainty. He edged around the tree, resisting her attempt to stop him, and saw – Uther Pendragon. All in mourning-black, twin medallions swinging on his chest as he bent to examine the ground, then lifted his head to scan the forest in their direction.

Merlin turned back to Ally. "He's tracking us," he whispered. "Do you know any magic to throw him off?"

She shook her head, wide-eyed with fear.

Merlin risked another look – tried a couple of spells to cover their trail, to distract Uther in a new direction – nothing happened.

"Let's go, let's go," Ally pleaded, plucking at his sleeve, and he led her in a silent rush, toward a grouping of hawthorn trees, low and dense, keeping the oak between them and the hunting king.

But then, he watched curiously through the pungent branches of small sharp-edged leaves.

"Come on, come on," Ally said, her terror starting to rise again. "What are you waiting for? He'll kill us."

"Ally, look," he said. "He hasn't got any knights with him. He's not even wearing a sword." Maybe it was true that Uther Pendragon had killed magic-users with his bare hands in the past, but… Merlin didn't believe the older man could overpower both of them, here and now.

If that was even his intention.

"What's he doing?" Merlin asked, rhetorically, in a low voice. "He's just… following, not rushing at all."

He watched Uther straighten, cup his hands around his mouth to shout something – though because the king wasn't facing them straight on, only Merlin's name was recognizable.

"He wants something from us," Merlin realized.

"Merlin," Ally moaned. "Please…"

"Hey, I promised to keep you safe, and I meant it," Merlin soothed her. "At least let me hear what he's trying to say."

"Yes, but –" She couldn't hold him back.

Arthur would have been proud of the things he'd learned, the year he spent… with Gwaine in the… Hm. But she followed, and if nothing else, her nervousness was going to alert the king sooner or later.

He was dragging her with her hold on his shirt, the fabric pulled tight against his skin because she wasn't strong enough to stop him. He stopped behind another tree, turning to face her fear with fond exasperation. "He can't hurt us, he obviously just wants to talk."

"About what?" she hissed. "We can't trust him!"

"Doesn't everyone deserve a second chance?" he said. "Even Uther Pendragon?"

"How many second chances does a person deserve?" she argued.

He snorted. "Well, I won't be the one to limit them…"

" _Merlin_!" he heard Uther shout. And then, astonishingly, " _Please let me see you_?..."

The words resonated in his soul, like the echo of a memory, and he was _drawn_ , beyond the tension he felt in contemplating approaching the king. To risk everything… and maybe gain everything.

He turned. Uther stood imperiously surveying the forest toward their right, hands on hips, scowling impatiently.

"You can wait here," Merlin offered over his shoulder in a whisper.

She whimpered.

Merlin moved out from behind the tree, deliberately moved in the king's field of vision, knowing he'd catch Uther's attention – and it worked.

Uther _grinned_ , beginning to stride forward.

It unsettled Merlin, who'd never seen that look on the king's face before. He backed a step, bumping into Ally, and raised his palm in a stay-back gesture of warning.

Uther froze, raising his own hands, the grin dropping – but the habitual scowl didn't replace it. "To talk," the king said. "Only to talk."

Merlin let his arm fall; Uther did the same, and took a few tentative steps. And Merlin missed then, a certain heavily ominous presence he'd always felt, caught in a rare moment alone with Uther – though that had never happened out-of-doors, maybe that was the difference.

"We're listening," he said narrowly. Hoping this wasn't some ploy to surround them with knights or horsemen beyond their sight on their flanks… He sent a quick glance around, but there was no sign of that. They probably should've been running, this close to the citadel of Camelot. Ally shouldn't have let him… sleep?

Uther's eyes flicked over Merlin's shoulder, and Ally pressed herself closer to his back, hiding her face between his shoulder-blades.

"First of all, whether you can believe it or not, I want to apologize. There has been… much loss, and hate… on both sides. I closed my eyes for a lot of years, to the truth. And it's mostly due to you, Merlin, that I've changed my –"

"Me?" Merlin said incredulously, almost laughing. What a ludicrous idea, that he could in any way affect or influence the king.

Ally spoke venomously from beside his shoulder. "Liar."

Uther's expression shifted. "You're one to talk. What did you tell him about this place, witch? And about me? And he's protecting you –"

The king moved fast, stepping forward and reaching as if to snatch Ally away from Merlin, and _there_ was that scowl. Merlin side-stepped between them, crouching slightly. Still without useful magic, he'd do his best to remember every training tip Arthur had ever tossed his way, and fight the king bare-handed if he had to.

"You don't touch her!" he commanded, a bit desperately, heart thumping in his chest. If anything happened to her, it would be his fault; he'd been curious about the king following them alone.

Uther didn't even slow, and Merlin had time and presence of mind only to take a single step back, before the king had seized him by his upper arms and shook him. "You damn idiot, look around you, there aren't even any birds, how can you believe –"

Ally darted out from behind Merlin once again, stark white and dark-eyed with fright, lifting her own palm toward Uther. " _Athwinan thas_ –"

"No!" Merlin shouted, twisting from the king's grip to place himself once again between them.

This time facing Ally, her outstretched hand nearly brushing his chest, just over his heart with her spell of vanishing on the tip of her tongue. With his back spread wide open and vulnerable to Uther Pendragon, who hated magic violently and murderously, and knew Merlin for a sorcerer who'd gotten too close to his family, and deceived him for too long.

His reaction shocked even himself. Breaths came hard and painful and surprised, but he didn't move or drop his arms, shielding Uther from her magic.

Ally's eyes were wide, and her mouth open. "Even him," she said with childlike confusion. "Why?"

 _I don't know…_

"Because he's Arthur's father," Merlin told her, the best explanation he could figure. "And Arthur's going to be a great king. He loves his father, and I – I remember what it was like, losing mine. I wasn't ready, I wasn't prepared – all that responsibility, all of a sudden, it was –"

A hand descended on his shoulder – warm, solid, and comforting. "Overwhelming," the king whispered. "And I told you, he was not worth your tears. Merlin, I wish I'd known. I wish you'd been able to tell me, I could've –"

Merlin started to turn. The grip tightened, and he tensed – afraid now, but he didn't know why. Ally clutched her arms to her chest, and backed a step.

"Don't turn," the king continued softly. "Don't look at me, just listen. I know about Balinor."

The name, spoken so by the man behind him, did not send spikes of apprehension pounding through him, but rather… an easing of a long-tight ache. Somehow.

"He was your father – that's why you connected with the great dragon when you came to Camelot. That's why you couldn't help but free him, that's why you had to take that triskelion to Ashkenar's tomb. And I was an ass to you, even though you didn't tell me your father had died, even though you tried to tell me, you'd inherited a kingdom, too, but without a fraction of the training I was blessed with. And none of the support I enjoyed."

Triskelion. Ashkenar. A key, and a tomb, and a… trap. Merlin trembled, and Ally's figure blurred slightly, briefly in his vision. He whispered to the hand on his shoulder – " _Arthur_?" – and imagined he felt Ygraine's ring on the small finger, pressed to his skin through his shirt.

"They brought you home. Gwaine and Percival and Bors. They brought you both home, you and that dragon egg –"

Flash of memory. Blue-white, shaped like a teardrop, captured in combined shafts of false daylight like a single moment in time and eternity, waiting atop a pedestal wound about with invisible threads of magic. To move the egg would upset the balance and bring the whole tower crashing down and he hadn't had a chance to decipher the puzzle or yet to decide if he'd return to –

"It's in the audience chamber, now. Guarded and waiting for you, and if you are its dragonlord then I know Camelot is in no danger and we'll all just have to get used to a baby dragon flying about the citadel –"

 _Arthur._

"Like everyone else has gotten used to me?" he said without thinking.

"I'm sorry about that, too. We found the burn on your arm, and I _am_ replacing that jacket, but it's actually been a little better lately because of the enchantment –"

Merlin did turn, then, blinking to see Uther's craggy-stern face. Gray hair, heavy jowls, scar. He took an involuntary step back, frowning and trying to see… Arthur?

"What enchantment?" he said suspiciously. He lifted his hand to his elbow, but there was no pain from even a healing burn. No head injury. All ten fingers, but –

Percival. Ashkenar. Bors.

The egg.

"There was an ambush at the tomb," Uther said seriously. "An enchantment to trap your mind."

 _It was a key, but also a trap… the tomb is a trap…_

"But it didn't work," Merlin said. "Here I am." Or did it? What about his memories? Would an enchantment make him see Uther when he looked at Arthur? Had he done something, then, that landed him in that cell? But what about –

Uther's gray eyes were fixed on Ally. "Let him go," he said quietly. An order and a plea, but both in granite. "Why did you do this? What do you hope to gain? I would be a friend to magic, as I am to Merlin, I would keep someone by me that I can trust to help me deal fairly with it. Whatever your quarrel, or purpose, can it not be handled without resorting to this?"

"What are you talking about," Merlin said, deciding that irritation felt better than ignorant apprehension.

"She is the one who –" Uther pointed an accusatory finger, but didn't finish. He stiffened abruptly, his eyes going distant, then burst out, "No! Iseldir, no, it is too soon! Give me one more –"

Merlin blinked, and Uther was gone.

Just, vanished.

For a moment he thought Ally had cast the spell after all, even silently, but her arms still hugged her body. Her eyes were pinched and resigned and still blue-gray, not golden with magic.

"I don't think Uther Pendragon knows Iseldir's name," he said. "He is a druid."

Ally's eyebrows peaked. "Arthur Pendragon would consult and cooperate with a druid's magic for you?"

"For anybody, probably," Merlin answered. "He's done it before, the last time the witch Morgause tried to take Camelot… Ally, was he right? Am I enchanted? That was Arthur, even though I saw his father, and… where are we?"

Tear brimmed, and one spilled, and she was looking at him almost as fearfully as she first had. "We didn't mean to hurt you," she said. "My father thought, if Arthur only kept you for his own convenience, to use to threaten people, or – or maybe you'd enchanted Arthur, but it wouldn't last – enchantments don't ever _last_ , and then you'd be in so much more trouble. It was… it was to help you escape, he said."

"Your father told you to cast an enchantment on me?" Merlin said. Ally twitched an affirmative answer, and began to back away. "Wait, Ally – I'm really not angry with you about it. Maybe we need to talk more, but – you can just lift it, can't you, and then we can figure out –"

She shook her head vigorously, still retreating.

"No, I can't," she said. "My father would be furious, and the king would probably kill us both…" Merlin tried to protest, to reassure, but she ignored him. "No, I'm sorry, I can't," she cried, whirling as if to run away.

Something caught at his foot – twig, vine, stone – and he glanced down so he wouldn't trip, and…

Nothingness.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"No no no, Iseldir, no!" Arthur growled, as the bench between his knees and Merlin's came into view, the conjoined crystals safe in the druid's fist. But, held very still even as he protested, so as not to endanger the delicate magic that allowed him the chance. "I need more time – even just a minute!"

"The limits are placed with good reason and good judgment," Iseldir responded, unperturbed, lifting the silver chain from around Merlin's neck, also.

"What happened, Arthur?" Gaius said.

Arthur didn't look around. Of course they'd guessed it had been different, this time, as Arthur had stayed the entire hour in Merlin's mind. He was exhausted. And couldn't wait to insult Merlin for it. He leaned forward, reaching for Merlin's shoulders exactly as he had, inside the enchantment, but more gently.

"Come on, come on," he breathed, waiting for a sign that his friend was fighting back, struggling to emerge.

"You spoke to him this time?" Iseldir asked, backing to join his fellow druids where they stood waiting, winding the dual chains of the Seowan. "Told him of the enchantment?"

"I did," Arthur said, eyes on Merlin's blank impassivity, rather than his audience. "I was – the same as before, but – he gave me a chance."

And Gwen and Tobe and – he released his immobile friend, turning away to kick one leg in frustration over the bench he'd straddled – Orryn also, would not know why that was so incredible. The laugh felt harsh in his throat, and threatened to spark tears to his eyes.

"I lost my temper," he confessed, looking up at Gaius just next to them, the old man belatedly switching his gaze from Merlin to Arthur. "She was there, and he was protecting her from me." He snorted, a sound both impatient and fond. "But he _listened_ and I said enchantment and of course he had to argue, the idiot… I don't think it was enough, though, Gaius – can't I go back?"

Gaius glanced over their heads at the druids. Iseldir said, in a placating tone, "In a few hours, sire. Do you not feel the need to rest?"

He did. And did not like to admit it. And knew from experience, they would not count it resting if he lingered here to wait out the time.

Percival stepped past Gwen and Tobe, gripping his forearm to raise him to his feet. Which he kept without wavering; Gaius scrutinized him a moment longer before turning back to his work-table, where he'd evidently been occupying himself while Arthur was trying to commune with Merlin. Tobe twitched away from Gwen and came to perch in Arthur's place on the bench, watching into Merlin's face.

Arthur cuffed the boy's shoulder lightly. "No hollering in his ear, Tobe. And run like the wind to tell me, if he breaks through?"

Tobe's only reply was a nod; he was intent on the young sorcerer. Arthur turned to Orryn, who gave him a smile of encouragement and understanding; Gwen caught his hand to squeeze as he headed for the door.

"Missives from Godwyn, Alined, and Bayard, sire, waiting for your response," Orryn said, a quiet reminder.

"You think that's restful?" Arthur said dryly, as his servant reached to open the door for them.

"You could rest and tell me what to write, m'lord," Orryn dared.

Two steps outside the door, however, and Arthur's attention was taken by the tall narrow nobleman ascending the tower stair.

"Lord Bernard."

The man's head came up, his expression showing surprise. "Good morning to you, sire, I was just on my way to inquire after the success of the venture with young Merlin."

He'd probably have to go at least once more to explain what Gaius and Iseldir had said about the enchantment, before they could reasonably expect Merlin to break himself out of the prison of his mind. But though he did feel more optimistic, he found himself reluctant to show that to the councilman.

"There is no change in his condition," he said only. "But we're not giving up."

"But surely Your Majesty shouldn't –"

"Good day, my lord," Arthur said, passing the nobleman on the stairs. His knees locked when they did not wobble, but he would not stay to argue with Bernard.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Gwaine spent the morning wandering the outskirts of Descalot alone, having left Arrok and Carados to spar with each other, and maybe a couple of the guards. He indulged in a single long drink in the alehouse, and returned to the three-towered castle proper disconsolate, having made no progress at all.

A few folks had remembered Borden as a thief, but someone who was just passing through, rather than a native of the area. Not a whisper of anyone near or far who might have given him the cursed arrow, or even the information about the location of Lord Descalot's vault.

On the bright side, he found Lancelot presentably dressed, sitting on the side of his smoothed-straight bed, fingering a rough-cut walking staff.

"Feeling stronger today?" Gwaine greeted him with a grin, bracing himself in the open doorway. The sooner the better – then they could ride for Camelot and pursue Lord Descalot's connection to Borden. Because no one would appreciate Gwaine bullying even a twisted version of the truth from the castle steward.

"Yes, thank you." Lancelot pushed to his feet, began to limp experimentally toward Gwaine.

"Feeling like facing shy Lady Alayna on your feet like a man at last," Gwaine added suggestively.

Lancelot gave him a frown of mild disappointment – which meant Gwaine's words had found their mark.

"Look," he continued, leaving the chamber door open to accompany his friend in the slow amble of first exercise – down the hall rather than the stairs. "I'm all for fidelity in love. But your fidelity doesn't help hers, if she's meant to be – and wants to be – with someone else. You're a good man, Lancelot, you shouldn't deprive certain shyly interested young ladies of a chance at winning –"

"You talk too much, Gwaine," Lancelot interrupted, a bit breathless as they rounded a corner.

They were approaching a gallery that was wide and high, lined with a number of enormous tapestries, separated from each other by displays of shields and other weaponry. Gwaine glimpsed a slim gray-clad form with black curls tucked behind her ear, but Lancelot's attention was close, on staff and footing and balance, and didn't notice her.

"So I'm told," Gwaine said amiably, "and no doubt it's true."

"About the wrong things," Lancelot continued. "Have you found out anything about Borden?"

The name caught Lady Alayna's attention, even from a good twenty paces. "Some interesting things," Gwaine allowed, giving her a courteous smile and nod, which she didn't return. "Whether they are useful things, remains to be seen. Perhaps my lady can help us decide…"

Lancelot's head came up at that, his mouth dropping open in surprise to find himself in her company.

"Decide what, Sir Gwaine?" Alayna asked, all sad seriousness. She had her arms crossed over her chest, her body still facing the tapestry she'd been looking at.

"Whether interesting means useful," Gwaine said lightly.

Instead of answering, she watched Lancelot hobble to her side, and switch the staff to his other hand. He reached and she offered; he murmured "my lady," over her knuckles, and her color heightened, though she didn't let his hand go.

"I am so very sorry that you were injured because of that man," she told him, in genuine distress.

"You know Borden, then?" Gwaine said casually, glancing up at the tapestry, which appeared to be an embellished family lineage.

"I've heard his name," Alayna said. "I never met him, though."

"Any idea where he'd get his hands on magical weaponry?" Gwaine tested.

She only looked at him for a moment, absently twining her fingers with Lancelot's – and he didn't look like he minded. Then she shifted to cast her eyes over the tapestry again. "The weavers have left space for three more generations," she commented, indicating the wide thick fabric. "I've wondered if that is overly optimistic…"

Lancelot glanced down at their still-linked hands, but the young lady continued as if the connection wasn't there.

"My mother was expecting a baby, when she died. My father had hoped for a boy. I was seven years old."

"I'm so very sorry for your loss," Lancelot told her in his deep, quiet, calm voice. "How did it happen?"

Alayna swung their hands slightly. "She poisoned herself."

Gwaine straightened, not sure he'd heard correctly, but Lancelot had reacted with shock and concern, also. "Beg pardon?"

"My mother had magic, Sir Knights." Alayna let go Lancelot's hand and faced them both, clasping her fingers together in front of her; Gwaine remembered how anxious she had been to know if Merlin's mother had magic. "I'm told it was neither strong or trained, only something that sprang out occasionally. I remember laughing when she turned my father's spoon into a flower one night at dinner."

It felt like Gwaine's assumptions had been shaken and set on their sides. "Lord Bernard knew his wife had magic – and shielded her from his king's laws?"

"Why are you surprised, Sir Gwaine," she said, tilting her head slightly. "I thought you had done the same, for someone you cared about?"

"Yes, but I'm not a lord and a councilman," Gwaine said.

"Yet," Alayna said gently. Astonishingly. Gwaine did not know how to respond to that.

"What happened with your mother?" Lancelot said. "She was found out?"

"No. They hid it for years – people here are very good at not seeing things that don't concern them. It was because of the baby, you see. She was afraid that the magic might pass to a child who wouldn't understand why or how to hide. So she took poison… and the babe with her. And we never knew if it was the son my father wanted…"

Gwaine ignored Lancelot's repeated condolences, feeling himself on the cusp of a significant discovery.

Because a mother might go to such lengths, driven mad by fear, over the _possibility_ of a magical inheritance placed on a beloved and defenseless child – but how much more so, if it had already occurred. Then possibly the father might have reason that made sense to him, to hire and equip a thief to lure the one known magic-user away from the king and place him under enchantment…

"My lady," Gwaine said. "Do you have magic?"

She looked at him steadily, even as Lancelot glanced back and forth in growing realization of connections.

Gwaine took a step toward her, feeling his brows draw together, and absolutely no inclination to smile. "Did you cast that enchantment on Merlin?"

Lancelot shifted to face him, half-blocking him from the lady. "Gwaine, calm down."

He wanted to threaten, to demand. But the corners of her mouth pulled down, and those lavender smudges below her eyes spoke not of plot and intrigue, but strain and unhappiness. And knowledge.

"You did, didn't you," he said. "But why? Why would you want to hurt Merlin? He's like you…"

"I didn't – we didn't!" she said, agitated. "He's fine, really, I promise."

"How can you know that?" Gwaine said. Lancelot hadn't moved, watching him more than Alayna, ready to protect her from anything and everything up to and including a harsh word and a raised tone.

"Because it's –" she glanced up at the side of Lancelot's face unhappily – "my enchantment. I can get inside of it. And talk to him."

"You talk to him?" It was laughable, really, but somehow Gwaine couldn't cough up so much as a chuckle; the thought made him feel slightly ill. "So he's still trapped? What do you say to him to explain yourself?"

"It's not – he's not –" Eyes like the twilight sky brimmed with tears, and Gwaine could not convince himself they were intentional, to garner sympathy. "He just, thinks he's in the forest, he's not… suffering, any pain or fear…" This time when she glanced up, Lancelot met her eyes, and she hung her head, bringing clasped hands up under her chin.

"Lift the enchantment, then," Gwaine said. "Let him go, if you don't mean him any harm."

"No, I can't. It's for his own good, so he can escape, because Camelot isn't safe for him, they'll never let twenty years of mortal prejudice just pass –"

Gwaine wanted to let a whole string of obscenity spill. Instead he stalked away up the gallery, whirled and stalked back past them, rubbing his fist and wishing for a fight he could legitimately pick.

Lancelot took up the argument, gently and rationally. "Merlin doesn't stay in Camelot because anyone is forcing him to, it's his own choice. Arthur is truly his friend and Merlin gladly protects him with his magic. Even now, when everyone knows, he still means to stay, to prove to everyone that magic need not be feared, when it is used for good…"

Gwaine glanced at her face; she was almost convinced. Abruptly he swerved to step closer, taking them both by surprise.

"When they caught him, Uther had him tortured. Beaten. They focused on his hands – his fingers. Gaius the court physician had to remove this joint." He held up his hand and pinched the digit Merlin was missing for emphasis. Alayna lost all color but gray, and swallowed as if trying not to be sick. "And he chose to stay. To live in hiding and risk his life again, to see that Arthur was safe. Prejudice or not, mortal or not, he won't leave Arthur unless Arthur himself says the word – and Arthur is too true of a friend, and a king, to say that word. Both of them are fighting that prejudice, and they're doing it together because they're stronger together and you have no right to get in the middle of that."

Tears streamed openly down her face. She gulped – glanced up at Lancelot to see if he felt the same as Gwaine. Lancelot tentatively reached an arm around her shoulders, and she clung to the front of his shirt, weeping silently and visibly trembling.

"Please," Lancelot said softly. "Remove the enchantment."

She shuddered. "I can't."

Gwaine tried to mimic Lancelot's tone. "It wasn't your idea, was it? Your father asked you? Persuaded you?" She quieted, and looked at him sideways from Lancelot's shirtfront, eyelashes wet and starry. "Perhaps if you spoke to him, if he changed his mind –"

"The king will be so angry," she whispered. "He'll have my father executed."

No designs on Merlin's life or Arthur's or the throne, no extended bodily harm intended for revenge… Gwaine felt safe saying, "I doubt that. But there's nothing to be gained by refusing to reconsider your part in this and your intentions."

"But I can't," she repeated. "Not unless I'm physically with Merlin."

"Why don't you come with us to Camelot, then," Lancelot suggested, looking down at her. His hand still cupped her elbow, her fingers still gripped the cloth of his shirt, dampened by tears. "You can speak to your father, and see Merlin. Meet Arthur, and we'll talk to him for you – and I swear on my life, no one will hurt you."

It took her several long minutes to think. Looking at Lancelot, at Gwaine, even at the tapestry.

A thought occurred to Gwaine, and he said gently, "No one there knows you have magic, and we'll keep that secret as long as you want us to. You'll be safe."

Her eyes were on the embroidered representation of her ancestry, when she nodded.

Gwaine restrained any external expression of triumph. "How soon can you be ready to leave?"

 **A/N: 'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring… which meant it was perfect timing for a wryter to post another chapter! Hope everyone has a safe and delightful holiday!**


	17. Confessions

**Chapter 17: Confessions**

 _"How soon can you be ready to leave?" Gwaine asked._

Alayna pushed away from Lancelot slowly, redirecting the question to him, keeping his weight on his good leg with help from the staff. "How soon can _you_ be ready to leave?"

Lancelot smiled, but before he could open his mouth to answer, a pair of raised voices at the end of the gallery interrupted them.

"…Not in the room, then, he's fine to ride, and I for one will be happy to –"

"…Been away from Camelot only four days, and you've been out of sorts the entire time, Arrok, what is it? If you didn't want to come –"

"I was ordered by good Sir Leon!"

The two men, red-caped as Gwaine and Lancelot had every right to be, and weren't, came into view just stopping to face each other. Gwaine thought it a good bet that neither had so much as glanced down the gallery to notice their audience, as they continued their argument at high volume.

"Oh, I forgot," Arrok added sarcastically, hands on his hips. "The newest knight is ever so eager to prove himself to the king, volunteer for everything, pretend friendship for the trio of strays His Majesty brought in to lick his boots –"

Gwaine left Lancelot and Alayna, and started toward the other two, but the sound of his boots on the floor wasn't enough to distract them from their argument.

"They're not like that," Carados protested, "and you'd know that if you gave them a chance. Gwaine and Lancelot are your equals now, and Merlin is –"

"Shit under my boots," Arrok sneered. "And that sorcerer is just so much kindling. One of these days I'll finish it proper and –"

Gwaine was almost upon them, and Carados fumbling at his belt for his gloves – and not because his hands were cold. Gwaine was proud of the younger man – for all his thickly-grown facial hair, younger than Merlin by a couple of years, he believed – but he couldn't be let challenge Arrok. The blond knight would kill him without blinking, and Gwaine didn't really have friends to spare.

So Gwaine's glove was out first, and he took great pleasure in slapping the worn, stained leather right in Arrok's face. "Say that again," he invited.

"Gwaine!" Carados protested, the visible skin of his face reddened with temper and embarrassment.

"Shit." Arrok repeated, eyes burning with a strange resentment that was very close to hate. He enunciated in exaggeration. "Under. My."

Gwaine slapped him again.

Arrok flinched involuntarily, and then it was true hate blazing out. "To the death," he said.

"Oh, Sir Knight." Lancelot and Alayna had caught up, and their lady-hostess sounded distressed. "Do you not think maybe you could talk about your differences, without resorting to –"

Gwaine was not in the mood for irony. He turned and silenced her with a single raised brow, that she understood.

"Within the hour, in the central court." Arrok sneered at all of them, before clearing his blood-red cape with a whirl, and storming off down the corridor that led back to the chamber they shared.

Alayna did not hold her tongue for long. "And do you think Merlin is happy to be a subject of dispute for his king's knights?"

Gwaine thought Lancelot could quote her something noble about the knights being brothers and serving the king without questioning his choices – though hadn't that gotten them into trouble under Uther – but he only gave her his most wicked grin.

"Who said anything about Merlin? I'm defending _my_ honor – and Lancelot's."

Lancelot would not thank Gwaine for fighting on his behalf, much less killing – but Alayna glanced up at him reflectively, and he kept his mouth shut.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

In the darkness, Merlin dreamed.

He dreamed he heard Arthur's voice. Calling him, commanding him, shouting irately, pleading brokenly.

Answers struggled to break out of him. Coming, sire – I'm right here – hold your horses, highness! – No, Arthur, don't… don't worry, I'm… I'm fine. But his very breath was locked tight in Merlin's chest.

 _Merlin_. Serious, and urgent.

Yes, my lord?

 _I don't know if you can hear me. This damn enchantment…_

Enchantment? Oh, yes, you said -

 _I'll keep trying, but… if she doesn't come back, if you can't hear me, if Gwaine can't find any answers…_

She. Ally?

 _Gaius says it's like a web, and your mind is trapped. We're taking care of your body here – food and water, sleep and exercise. Gaius says if he starts snipping threads, though, he might cause you unknown and irreparable damage. So it's down to you, old friend._

Without that term of affection, Merlin might have scoffed, rather than sighing deeply though internally. Isn't it always.

 _Iseldir says it's like a child has tossed a skein of spun wool all around a room._

Light sparked in the darkness. Lightning striking randomly in straight lines - energy crackling without the feeling of danger – in different directions, starting from different points and leaving a flat pattern-less tangle of fading pinks and blues.

 _He says, if you can find the end of that thread, one long thread, you should be able to unwind it yourself…_

 _I guess I'll... keep coming back. Keep trying to tell you this, talk to you, even though… you probably can't hear me._

 _Come on, Merlin. You can do this. We all believe in you – the druids and Gaius and Gwen. Tobe is like your half-size shadow anymore, he takes just as good a care of you as anyone. I'm going to knight Percival one of these days – you don't want to miss that, do you? – and then it's probably Elyan's turn, he's got a good grasp of the fundamentals of various weapons, sharp and blunt, heavy and light…_

Merlin could almost picture Arthur in his chamber at the end of the day, pacing in a meandering fashion and simply voicing his thoughts aloud to the audience of the manservant he'll still verbally deny he trusts. Though they both know better, and it makes Merlin feel warm and safe – and melancholy because he hasn't spoken his thoughts to the prince and he wants that privilege, that barrier broken down. But if Arthur knew his secrets, that barrier might be permanent…

 _We haven't told your mother yet. Gaius is hoping we won't have to, and I have to say I agree with him. Don't you know it would break her heart to see you like this? It breaks mine – now come out and mock me for that!_

I've never mocked your broken heart, sire, never.

 _And what about this unhatched dragon? It's just going to clutter up my receiving chamber indefinitely? I knew you were a shirker, Merlin, but… no, you never were a shirker. Not when it mattered._

Arthur knew. Knew his magic, knew his father's legacy. And still wanted him back.

 _Merlin, please wake up. Take your time, we're all here for you –_

He remembered Gwen saying, Please let us do the same for you – don't be brave alone. It made him feel both confident and strong, that Arthur knew and understood. And this time it might be Arthur, sitting still to listen while Merlin paced and rambled about his worries. Magic and dragons and Camelot. He'd thought their relationship was supposed to be, Arthur needs Merlin and Merlin takes care of Arthur. But friends took care of each other – and it sounded like that was what Arthur was already doing for him.

 _But please. Wake up, Merlin._

…

 _Merlin? I don't know if you can hear me, but – you're under an enchantment. There was an ambush at the tomb – your dragon's egg is fine, Bors and Percival and Gwaine brought you home. Percival has been guarding you, we've all been taking care of you…_

Arthur sounded discouraged, and it hurt Merlin's heart.

 _Lancelot and Gwaine are tracking the man responsible, but… Gaius says it's like a web. Iseldir says, if you can find the end of the thread, you can unravel…_

This time when the lightning flashed – faded to pink and blue – Merlin paid attention. Followed, memorized.

I know how strong they can be, but… I've helped break more than one enchantment.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur kept his eyes closed, feeling Iseldir's gentle fingers remove the silver chain of the crystals, inadvertently ruffling his hair as he slumped forward, head bowed.

"Sire?" Gaius' voice. From the proximity, his hand that Arthur felt on his shoulder, too.

He breathed. If he concentrated, he could hear Merlin breathing, too, close enough to touch as Iseldir freed the sorcerer from the crystal-chain. Evenly. Not struggling – gasping – laughing – exclaiming –

"Dammit," he said roughly, belatedly wondering if Tobe was present. Not really caring – Gwen didn't reprimand him, which meant she wasn't there, either.

"My lord?" A new voice, and one that drew his spine straight, snapped his eyes open even though that released the tears; he rubbed them away roughly with the cuff of his shirt, twisting away from Merlin on the bench to face Lord Bernard.

"What are you doing here?" He was too tired; the irritation had no real heat.

"Representative of the council," the older man said, and his habitual intensity was halved, as if he too were exhausted, though it was only midday. "Druids in Camelot, my lord, performing magic on the sorcerer you freed, in your presence…"

"So you've come to observe, so you can set their minds to rest?" Arthur said. His throat felt tight, as if he had actually been talking for the past hour, repeating the same explanation over and over into the darkness of Merlin's mind. He was glad it was only Gaius and Iseldir, this time – and Percival in his silent watchful corner – though did that mean no one else believed this could work, anymore.

"How can our minds be set to rest, unless yours is, Your Majesty?" Bernard said. "We all admire your tenacity, but perhaps you can see now… it might be for the best to let this go? Just let the boy go."

He snorted; hadn't he just said that to the young sorceress, that morning.

"Arthur. If you worry for his safety at all, if you worry that someone else might capture him, in this condition, might I volunteer my own castle as a secure retreat? Any guardian you might wish to send would be welcomed there also…" Bernard gestured to Percival, who switched his gaze to Arthur without betraying any hint of his own opinion.

Arthur couldn't help but remember Bernard's earlier suggestion about sending Merlin to Ealdor, as if there was no hope for the enchantment to break – and yet the northern lord was still here, ostensibly waiting to speak to the sorcerer about their defenses. Possibly he'd given that up, and remained now from curiosity, but.

"Perhaps the enchantment cannot be lifted," he said conversationally, and ignored both Gaius' sharp inhalation, and Iseldir's gentle sigh. "Perhaps the knights I have sent to investigate the one who attacked Merlin with the enchantment will return without a solution. Perhaps Merlin is not strong enough to break through, himself, and this is what his life will be, forever."

He had to pause, to steady himself, to take a breath and _hope_ against all odds. But no one spoke to answer or interrupt him, and he rose to his feet to face Bernard more fully.

"Do you have a brother, my lord?"

"No, I –" Bernard was startled, maybe for the first time since Arthur had met him again, this trip. "I have not."

"I do, now," Arthur told him, relieved to be blunt and honest, no matter how the man took it or used it or twisted it. There was a time for concern for diplomacy, and there was a time to discard it; a time for the king to appear separate and aloof – and a time to cross that divide and be a man like any other. Merlin wasn't his weakness; he was his strength, and everyone else might as well start realizing that, too. "Merlin is my brother, in every way that matters. Better than a brother. He worked for me, he fought for me, he bled for me. I'm sure that you've seen his last finger is missing the joint – Gaius had to remove it after my father's questioner tortured him. Because he didn't believe the truth that Merlin told, about his magic and how he'd used it."

Bernard's eyes dropped to the hands resting on Merlin's lap.

"In a manner of speaking," Arthur continued, "he even died for me – and no one else left to me can say so much. His only ambition has been to encourage me to become a better man, that I may be a better king – to all the people within our borders _according to their respective laws and customs_."

The lord's surprise was now mingled with an earnest sort of intensity, as if he wished to believe Arthur very much… but didn't quite.

"If he never recovers." Arthur steadied himself. "Still he will remain. Camelot is his home; he's earned it. Still he can remind me to deal justly and to extend mercy and to feel compassion for my people, even if he must do so silently and unknowingly. He would –" Arthur caught his breath again, and finished deliberately, "he would not have abandoned me. I will not abandon him."

Lord Bernard studied Arthur with a very strange look on his face, as though he'd forgotten their audience of three – four, counting Merlin.

"You have changed," he said slowly. "Over the years, I have seen you fleetingly and seldom… As a man, you are surprisingly unlike your father – I mean that as a compliment to you, without disparaging his memory."

Arthur's lip curled in a half-smile. "You can thank Merlin for that. He pushed me to discover that it was better for me and for the kingdom to be my own man and follow my conscience, than endlessly striving and failing to be someone I wasn't, and never would be."

"Your father," Lord Bernard guessed. "And magic?"

"Is not a weapon I mean to wield in secret, as a royal exemption while I prosecute the law as it currently stands against all others. I truly hope that magic can be popularly treated like any other resource or skill, within my lifetime." In Arthur's opinion, the problem lay in the difficulty of peaceful and fearless transition.

"All the gods have mercy," Bernard whispered, and Arthur blinked in astonishment to see tears shining in those stormy-sky eyes. "My lord…" The older man moved around the table, head bowed – and knelt at Arthur's feet, like a knight-hopeful swearing fealty.

Arthur looked over his head at Gaius – whose eyebrow could get no higher – and Iseldir, whose calm composure was unruffled. Percival was on his feet, mouth half-open in the sort of surprise that make the big man look childishly naïve.

"My lord," Bernard repeated, "I must confess, I have made what may be an unforgiveable mistake. I –"

"Please get up," Arthur said, bothered beyond words to have a councilman of his father's age on his knees to him. "Just – why don't we take a seat?"

"Here?" Lord Bernard said, rising slowly but indicating the others present with his glance, beginning with Merlin.

"We'll give you the room, sire," Gaius said, beckoning to Iseldir, who followed the old physician out the door.

Percival lingered til Arthur reassured him, "Merlin will be fine," then closed the door behind himself.

Silence. And a pungent smell like a mix of pine and cedar from the worktable. Arthur seated himself on the bench again, this time with Merlin at his back, but Bernard remained on his feet and clasped his hands behind him.

After a moment, the nobleman said, "My late wife had magic."

That was something Arthur had never heard so much as a whisper of, and he probably didn't hide his surprise well; Bernard's long face twisted slightly.

"We hid it successfully, but the strain… proved too much for her. I did my best to rule Descalot with merciful justice, and remained loyal to King Uther. Your father really was a fair king, though a hard one…"

"Except when it came to magic," Arthur finished for him.

"When we heard of his death, and the choices you had made for your coronation favors, I confess I was greatly worried. I was certain I would find one of two situations, upon my arrival here."

Arthur thought back to the things Bernard had said, to him and in council, and they made more sense, coming from a man sympathetic to magic, but uncertain where his fellow councilmen – or his new king – really stood on the matter. "You thought, that I controlled Merlin, or that he controlled me."

"Correct." Bernard inclined his head. "And neither one of those circumstances would have been good for Camelot, in the end. I assumed if he'd enchanted you, sooner or later it would slip and you would realize, and perhaps begin a second Purge. Or that having such power answerable only to you would tempt you into excesses that would set you at odds with the council and perhaps the other kingdoms. Catastrophe… war… death."

Arthur had to admit that it wasn't such a farfetched concern. Some of the foreign correspondence he'd dealt with this morning with Orryn, had carried hints of the same general queries about his intentions regarding magic generally and his sorcerer specifically.

"But," Bernard went on, "the way you treat him, the way you care. The way he spoke about you… I see now that I was wrong. And I can only hope for your mercy in dealing with my offense… because the enchantment laid upon Merlin was my doing."

Arthur might have bolted to his feet, but for the awkwardness of the bench between his knees, and the weariness of the hour's worth of magic he'd just experienced. "Explain yourself, my lord."

"Before I left Descalot, I contracted with the thief Julius Borden to steal the piece of Ashkenar's triskelion that resided with the druids, and bring it here to Camelot to lure the sorcerer from your side. I arranged for him to have and use the enchanted arrow because I believed if you were under his spell, it would be broken and you might be persuaded his condition punishment enough, and send him away. Or if you considered him no more than the best weapon in your personal armory, you would surrender him as useless, and he could be freed from your control."

Arthur put his elbow on the table next to them, and laid his forehead in his hand. He wanted to laugh, but was pretty sure it would not emerge sounding remotely mirthful.

"I beg your pardon most humbly for the disquietude I've caused you, for the lack of trust I've shown you. I have broken the law against the use of magic and I suppose that means I face execution. But if I may plead one thing, it is that you place all blame on me, and bring no consequence of my actions upon my family or my lands."

Arthur did rather wish he could swing a fist with all his force right into that long narrow jaw. But though the methods were wrong, though the lord had usurped judgment into his own hands, no one had died but the thief who'd carried out the attack. The lord's motives were ultimately for the good of Camelot, and once recognizing his error, he'd confessed himself in the wrong and willing to face due punishment.

"I am in no condition to hold an immediate trial," he said, dropping his hand and raising his eyes to the lord's. "You will be taken to the cells and held there until such time as I can – within the week, presumably. Though I'm reasonably sure I can ease your mind about execution, and the safety of your daughter, as an innocent and your heir."

Lord Bernard's brows drew together in a frown of concentration, but he merely bowed in acquiescence.

Instead of calling the guards waiting on the other side of the door, Arthur said, "Do you know, then, how the enchantment might be lifted?"

The nobleman breathed once, gaze passing Arthur to rest on the motionless sorcerer behind him. "I am sorry, it is not within my power to do so. But I may join my hope to yours that he may break free himself. And that if he does, he can find it in his heart to forgive."

He probably would, Arthur reflected. The idiot.

"Who is the sorceress, then?" he asked. "If we can locate her perhaps you can give the order, or we can negotiate her release of Merlin."

Arthur saw the thought cross Bernard's mind, to negotiate for his own release. But the lord said instead, "I gave my word to protect her from reprisals in case our plan went wrong and we were discovered. I cannot in good conscience tell you who she is."

And Arthur was not in the mood to bargain. He hadn't given up on Merlin himself – or Gwaine, for that matter. He raised his voice for the guards.

"Take Lord Bernard to the cells on the first level," he ordered.

Their professionalism as well as the nose-guards of their helmets hid any surprise or consternation, and the nobleman moved to accept their escort without struggle. On the first level he'd be given regular meals and certain other amenities, allowed visitors with supervision.

Arthur wondered what on earth he was going to tell the rest of the council. The truth, probably, though they were going to want to influence his decision, what should be done with Bernard.

He stood in the doorway watching one of his bodyguards lead Lord Bernard down the tower stair in preparation to pass the duty of incarceration to the first knight or regular guard they met. Gaius and Iseldir were not in sight; Percival joined Arthur in the doorway, and Arthur moved to close the two of them in the physician's chamber once again with their vulnerable friend.

If he was needed for anything, Orryn would come. And this time he would rest without leaving Merlin.

"Bernard confessed," he told Percival. Fully aware of the oddity of his confidence to a commoner and a man not even native to Camelot. But Percival was one of a special handful he trusted uniquely and completely, and he'd chosen _not_ to distance himself as king, from those companions. "He was behind the enchantment, to separate Merlin from me…" That was a long story, but Percival the sort to accept a less-than-thorough explanation, and not demand more than Arthur gave. "But he can't or won't do anything to lift it."

Percival absorbed that, moving closer to Merlin, as Arthur did also. "Did you speak to Merlin again, sire, this last time you used the crystals?"

"I did, but – there was nothing but darkness. I don't know if he even heard me."

They both looked at Merlin. Why, Arthur couldn't have said. There was never any change, never any new symptom to puzzle out, no cause for either hope or despair. No indication that he would suddenly –

Merlin straightened in his slump, twisting slightly in his seat straddling the bench. Lifted his hand to the table as if to balance himself for further movement –

 _Saw_ them. Arthur would swear that Merlin's eyes connected, and there was life there.

Percival saw it too, stepping forward eagerly and saying the word that was stuck in Arthur's throat, impeding his own breath.

"Merlin?"

But the younger man's gaze didn't track Percival's movement. The blue eyes unfocused toward the corner, the slender body relaxed gradually back into the motionless slouch.

There was a nearly unbearable taste of bitterness in Arthur's mouth. "We almost had him," he whispered, so that it wouldn't rise to a shout of anguish.

But when Percival looked back at him from his crouch by Merlin's knee, his square face was lit with a hopeful sort of delight. "We did almost have him, Arthur. He's fighting – or working – or whatever it's going to take. Some time, maybe, is all."

It was encouraging to know, he wasn't the only one still hoping.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin clutched at the fading lines of pink and blue, trying to trace meaning like overlaid constellations. Letters – script – runes… Madness – random – nonsense.

Couldn't be. There had to be meaning. Otherwise the enchantment wouldn't work. It wouldn't hold.

The lines were fading.

But why the darkness? _There aren't even any birds – what did you tell him about this place, witch?_

A trap… a tomb… a key.

He visualized the spiraled arms of the triskelion, melting into the door. Visualized the door opening… heard his own breathing fade into the echoing vastness of the chamber.

Opened his eyes.

Blinked in the brightness of ensorcelled light, catching and holding him in the same place as the dragon-egg plinth. Blinked past the light at enormous columns, blue painted sigils on white. Lines of pink and blue magic hummed all about him, tangled his whole body lightly but surely, and one move would bring the whole tower down. A pattern-less web of immense length and width and breadth – it reminded him fleetingly of the magical chains Morgause had once wound around him – but this was for safety and protection, not eternal interment.

 _A key. Only when the way ahead seems impossible, will you have found it._

He blinked and two ghostly figures, there but not there, flashed fast over his vision. Arthur and Percival, twin expressions of hope, before he was alone again in the silent grandeur of the sorcerer's tomb.

All right. Now he had time to study the sigils, discover the puzzle, unravel the magic. Unlock the enchantment.

Merlin turned his attention to the nearest pillar.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Gwaine had his chainmail and sword, but he hadn't even thought of plate-mail, helmet or shield, when he'd ridden out of Camelot to track Lancelot.

Arrok, it seemed, hadn't left home without it.

The courtyard was packed. Half sun, half shade, as the afternoon was half-gone. Gwaine could well believe all industry had ceased within its walls – and maybe most outside, to account for the crowd. They left a clear area in the center about as large as the single-combat arena in Camelot – but there were no walls to protect spectators, so he and… well, probably only he would take care to protect the crowd from their duel.

"Are you very sure," Lady Alayna said in a low voice, "that it has to be, to the death?"

Lancelot leaned on his walking staff; she leaned on him, pale and inclined to bouts of trembling. Nerves, Gwaine thought; she'd probably never seen something like this. The ring of gawkers passed behind them, and Carados lingered just next to the pair. Across the circle, Arrok stood next to Steward Taul, introducing the combat-match to the crowd.

"It won't get that far," Gwaine reassured her.

Lancelot said, almost at the same time, "Gwaine is too skilled for that to be inevitable."

And Gwaine was tired of waiting. Probably it was too late for them to start their journey to Camelot til the next morning anyway, but – "You mind terribly if we leave you to look after him while he recovers?" he said to Carados, moving toward the center of the open area. Carados snorted, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. "I'll owe you drinks!" Gwaine added cheerfully. "For a month?"

He tightened his gloves, settled his sword in its sheath, and turned to face his opponent, aware of the feel of the cobblestones under his boots, the way the sun's rays warmed the air. Arrok sneered at him before dropping his visor, and left Taul to hold his shield.

"Are you going to offer me reparations, to halt this fight?" the blond knight called, stopping two swords'-lengths from Gwaine, but shifting to the left – which would bring Gwaine around to face into the sun, if he followed the movement.

"Nope," Gwaine said easily, shaking his hair back and allowing his full grin. "I expect to beat half of hell out of you for what you said about Lancelot – who's twice the man you'll ever be – and for your attitude toward Merlin, who after all would save your life and be your friend if you gave him the chance. The idiot. I'm just hoping today will make you think twice about raising your hand against him in the future, rather than just your tongue."

Arrok circled past his field of vision; he didn't turn, but dropped his gaze to fixing his gloves – oh so fine a fit. And there was Arrok's shadow – and the people who held their breath would give him plenty of warning. One of the benefits to spectators, though there were drawbacks, also.

"What if I raise my torch against him!"

Not a taunt, but a threat; Gwaine heard the intent to attack in his voice. And the shadow lurched violently, and the people gasped predictably.

Arrok was right-handed, so Gwaine stepped to the left. Two… call it three inches shorter, so he raised his elbow just so – and slammed it back into Arrok's neck almost hard enough to knock him off his feet.

"And you'd attack a man from behind," he scolded Arrok, drawing his sword lightly and deliberately as the other flailed and coughed.

"I don't call you a man," Arrok rasped, reclaiming balance and bearings. "A pig, rather, except your shit comes out your mouth!"

As insults went, that wasn't bad, Gwaine had to admit, stepping into his defense as easily as any given training session.

Arrok was a thoroughly competent knight. Proficient and precise, quick but not clever. Nor innovative or risky. He'd probably have survived a battle, with his brothers-in-arms around him also fighting desperately for their lives. Gwaine, however, took the opportunity to teach him lessons.

"That footwork is too fancy for that attack."

"No, flat – flat! And watch the angle of your edge!"

"Temper, Arrok… Emotion will always betray you…"

"Shut up!" the blond knight hissed, whirling into a less-controlled series of attacks, as if he figured because Gwaine hadn't wounded him yet, he couldn't or wouldn't. "Shut – up!"

 _Okay, let's finish it, then_. The wound Gwaine planned to inflict shouldn't actually threaten Arrok's life. But there was always the danger of infection… and what about a permanently crippling injury? There were definitely benefits to that, though he could see more detrimental consequences also…

Slide, parry, sidestep – catch and shove – duck –

Gwaine made a point of keeping his back to the sun, even when they were in the shade, even when a safer defense might have had him spinning about rather than maintaining his position, to give himself an extra challenge. He didn't pay any attention to the crowd anymore, not to notice the gasp and calls of approval, though he noted the effect on Arrok's level of frustration.

Complacency was the warrior's bane, and it had been a long time since that particular bane had tempted him… Gwaine didn't recognize it til almost too late.

Arrok dodged – and across the ring, Taul shifted. The sun Gwaine had arrogantly kept at his own back blazed in reflection from the knight's shield in the steward's hands – straight into his eyes.

Half a second, he wondered if it was deliberate. If the steward thought to protect his lord and lady by helping the other knight remove Gwaine as the head of the problem. Or if it was pure bad luck, innocent idiocy of a man who valued mental agility over physical.

Didn't matter, probably. Arrok was incensed to the point of taking any advantage and making sure of Gwaine's death. Worry about explanations and excuses later.

Momentarily blinded and convinced that death was imminent, Gwaine reacted as a mercenary might in a private-turned-nasty fight-for-the-kill. He wheeled aside from three of the likeliest attack-trajectories, given Arrok's last position. Using his own momentum and adding his left hand to the hilt, he rammed his sword right through the middle attack of the supposed three.

If he guessed wrong, he was probably a dead man, sightlessly flailing for an unseen opponent who would laugh as he finished Gwaine off. But his sword met resistance.

Slight scrape of sharp edge on dull metal. Flinching quiver of pained flesh, and then bone – it kept going – it kept going –

Gwaine had never let go of his weapon in a fight over something so small as instinctive and visceral horror over taking another man's life. But he did overbalance and send himself to one knee, trying to yank his blade back.

Two inches of gambeson cuff below the edge of chainmail at his left wrist wiped sun-tears from his eyes in a vicious-fast movement even as his right hand and arm prepared to continue defending – fighting – and he blinked at Arrok's hunched-motionless figure once.

Before the other knight's sword dropped to the cobblestones. Closely followed by his knees. Heavily followed by lifeless upper body.

Utter silence. Gwaine wished for a cloud to pass overhead because really the sunshine was obscene… and he was absolutely wheezing for breath all of a sudden.

Lady Alayna stepped forward – hand rising with Gwaine's shoulder as he stood – and approached the fallen knight. She light and delicate in her fine dove-gray gown, he little more than a mass of metal and clay on the cobblestones. She crouched and threaded her fingers between segments of armor. Waited – everyone held their breath – Gwaine already knew.

He exhaled, closing his eyes and tipping his face to the sun. It felt wrong to have killed someone who was supposed to be on his side, someone he'd actually sworn to protect. He hadn't intended this. Even if it hadn't been honorable for Arrok to take advantage of his distraction – even if it had been Arrok's choice to make it _to-the-death_. But that was fate, sometimes.

Gwaine came back to himself as Lady Alayna rose and cast a glance around the circle of her people.

"The duel was to the Knights' Code," she said clearly. "We mourn the fallen – and acknowledge the lawful victor."

She gave him a proper curtsy, and he bowed, stretching to wipe his blade on his cuff. Subdued applause, and none of it vocal, which he appreciated. He glanced over his shoulder at Lancelot leaning on his staff and Carados with arms still crossed; solemn as both of them were, they both nodded at him, agreeing with Alayna's proclamation.

But Gwaine wasn't done. Stalking past Arrok's body, he approached Steward Taul. At the look of terror that flitted across the short man's face, he slowed – slightly – and sheathed his sword.

"Get Sir Arrok prepared for return to Camelot," he ordered. "Afford him every respect; Sir Carados will remain to oversee the journey. Sir Lancelot and I will escort Lady Alayna back to Camelot – and _you know why_. Have our horses and supplies ready at dawn. Right now, though, you and I are going up to the dove-cotes, to send a message to King Arthur."

Steward Taul gulped, and nodded.

 _Dear Arthur_ , Gwaine thought with grim amusement, _I have good news and bad news…_

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Time had passed.

Merlin was sure of it, though how much he could not say. The light was everlasting, and his body sent no warnings of hunger or thirst or weariness.

The runes on the pillars were nothing he'd ever seen before, in any of Gaius' books. But they weren't… entirely… alien, either. He felt he could read them, if…

If he could find the end of that thread.

The pink and blue lines of power circled the pillars visibly, dipped and rose, crossed and tangled. Even fused, in some cases, with the strokes of the painted sigils. And maybe he couldn't read them, but he could recognize the ending of a line. That ending that continued to elude him…

He wondered if he could _make_ the ending of a line, except… _snipping threads – irreparable damage._ If he _pulled_ … he expected the tomb would collapse, here in his mind's enchantment.

What had happened when his friends had taken the egg from its plinth?

It hadn't been hidden. Only protected. Had Ashkenar anticipated someone worthy eventually arriving to claim it? Another sorcerer, clever and greedy enough to merge the pieces, follow the map, collapse the chamber's enchantment and – take the egg for their own selfish purposes? That was very like what Sigan had done, causing his soul-jewel to be placed just so, for theft by someone greedy and clever – and yet also careless and foolish – enough to provide the body for his return.

Or had Ashkenar intended to reward someone else with the egg – a waiting dragon, immense power cocooned. Perhaps it wasn't any random sorcerer, full of power and hungry for more, who could safely remove the egg. Perhaps it was a certain kind of magic, that would understand and value the prize appropriately…

Perhaps it took a dragonlord. Perhaps the sigils would have been something he'd have learned from Balinor, had Balinor known he had a son and heir. Had they both had the time for proper instruction of inherited lore.

So how might a dragonlord's methods differ from another sorcerer's?

Well… the ability couldn't be passed through teaching. It was probably literally in his blood.

Merlin looked down to examine himself, moving as much as he could in the bonds of the magical web. Loops, lines, nooses – and one seemed to go right through his chest.

He craned his head, but couldn't see if it emerged from his back, or not. That didn't seem to have happened anywhere else on his body, that he could see.

An end? He squirmed to raise his hands, to get them anywhere close to that thread, but it was impossible. He focused on magic to tug on it – but that didn't work any more than it had when the enchantment had shown him a prison cell, or a forest.

Scowling at the place on his chest, just to the right of his breastbone, it occurred to him that it might possibly be right where the arrow had struck him. He wondered if maybe there were significant lines of scarring on his chest, beneath his shirt where that beam entered. He remembered the block carved into his skin, how it felt – how it itched, and rattled insistently.

And blazed out of him at last. Igniting the straps that kept him in the questioner's chair.

That spot on his chest where the light touched him grew _warm_. Like his first awed glimpse of Kilgarrah. Like the moment when he'd spoken the word _Father_ to Balinor. Like that dark hilltop when he and Kilgarrah had both calmed to a realization and acceptance of _dragonlord_.

Could he _burn_ these lines?

Not with a spell - since that wasn't working for him and wasn't unique to dragonkind anyway - but something deeper. Instinctive… elemental.

He focused. Felt the fire that always smoldered, _kindle_. Felt a primal fury at being bound. He held the feeling back, turned it over, breathed sentience into it, sensed it build and build –

And finally released the heat of dragonfire – _I've withstood… you can try again_ – with an explosive roar.

 _Oh… drakon!_

It was not unlike lightning. Fire sparked along that line out from his chest, faster than sight, looped around to follow it – faster and faster along that single thread – leaving fiery orange motes fluttering and dancing along behind, frail and incorporeal remnants dissipating.

He didn't need to take a breath. Fire and magic blasted continuously out of him, like the lightning that had revealed the lines, whizzing past him and around him, warming the air of the whole chamber. Pushing to find and reach the other end of the single extensive thread forming the web of enchantment in a wordless cry to all his ancestors and kin at once.

 _OH DRAKON!_

 **A/N: Next chapter, Merlin's back! Happy New Year, everyone!**

 **In other news, I finally finished my NaNo story, at least in rough draft!**


	18. Conversation with a Dragon

**Chapter 18: Conversation with a Dragon**

When Merlin opened his eyes, he thought surely he was dreaming. Still caught in the enchantment, maybe.

There was no fire like he'd expected, after what he'd tried and done, in the grand tomb-chamber of his mind. No blazing violent action, no wild defiant roaring.

Only, the smell of summer grass, tickling his ears and the back of his neck. The sky above him, high wispy clouds swirling with sunset color, pink and orange on still-brilliant blue. And smoky-pearl against it, the high towers of Camelot's citadel, complete with distant pennants snapping soundlessly.

He let his head tip to one side, and saw that he lay on the training-field, empty of knights, this late in the day. A stone's easy toss away by the weapons-table, Elyan bent picking over the selection on the far side, dressed in boiled-leather breastplate. Across the table from the blacksmith, Percival was closer as he allowed and supervised Tobe, testing one of the blunt practice swords bright-eyed and two-handed. Near them but in private conversation, Gwen in lavender with her herb-basket over her arm, a black-haired woman in a druid's cloak, and long-haired Sir Brenner.

What an odd dream.

Merlin turned his head the other way and saw Arthur. Lounging on the grass also, knees up as he leaned back on his hands, just beyond the reach of Merlin's arm. The king was gazing contemplatively into the distance, his faint frown indicative of concentration more than trouble, his dark blue shirt and earth-colored trousers showing casual relaxation. Not the chainmail, not the court or council-room finery. Far past him, next to the citadel wall, the two ceremonial guards waited, cloaks fluttering, halberds upright and motionless.

For no apparent reason, he turned his head to look at Merlin. Just, for a moment, looking into each other's eyes, as Merlin felt a smile of contentment pull the corners of his mouth upward. It was good to see Arthur relaxed, it was better than pulling away to keep the distance that would convince everyone, he had no desire to wind or manipulate strings of enchantment upon the king. He was tired of that; it was lonely and maybe needlessly so.

Then Arthur grinned, an expression that moved from surprise to satisfaction to downright triumphant glee – the very look that disturbed Merlin on Uther's face, but _perfect_ for his friend in moments of emotion overcoming reticence.

"Merlin," he said.

"Good afternoon, sire," Merlin responded, happy to rest unmoving in the grass.

"You've done it, then?" Arthur said, still allowing his delight to show.

"Done what?"

"Broken the enchantment," Arthur said, the blaze of his eyes dimming slightly to have to explain himself, as if he thought he shouldn't.

"Oh – this is real, then," Merlin said. "Really? I thought…" He glanced for a minute back at Elyan and Percival with Tobe, Gwen and a druid and a knight. "Hm. I guess I… _burned_ the enchantment."

Arthur gave an incredulous huff, and Merlin stretched, sweeping his arms slowly upward through the grass, pointing his toes in their boots toward Camelot. He felt quite odd, as if he'd been in the same position too long, and the different parts of him had forgotten how to respond to his instinctive commands. He could feel tender new skin pulling a bit on his right arm, near the elbow; he could feel the grass tickling the shortened end of his smallest finger.

"I heard you," he told his friend. "What you said about Gaius and Iseldir – however you did that… thanks, Arthur."

"Druid crystals," Arthur told him, still wearing a half-smile that was equal parts happiness and self-satisfaction. "Iseldir will probably explain…" He watched Merlin a few moments longer, as if making sure Merlin wasn't going anywhere. "Are you all right?"

Merlin only hummed contentment, filling his lungs in a long sigh.

Arthur added, "I should tell you, I had a message from Gwaine last night."

Merlin remembered. "You said he and Lancelot were trying to find who was responsible?"

"They did," Arthur said, and then the smile was gone. "They're bringing her to Camelot, probably arrive tomorrow."

"But… wait." Merlin struggled to get one elbow beneath him. "I don't think it was her fault. She said her father –"

"Her father?" Arthur said sharply, straightening up off the heels of his hands. "Lord Bernard confessed to me that the attack was his doing – if his daughter is the sorceress –"

"Lord Bernard?" Merlin said, bemused.

"We have a lot to talk about, apparently," Arthur remarked.

"How long?" Merlin asked, and Arthur understood.

"Just over a week." The king rolled, pushing himself to his feet and offering Merlin his hand. Merlin blamed the shock of a lot more time passing than he'd thought, for the clumsy way he reached standing, and the way he swayed, once on his feet.

"A week." He might have guessed the better part of a single day. "You didn't – write to my mother after all, did you?"

"Gwen was going to tomorrow, if the crystals still weren't working." Arthur turned to shout for the attention of their friends. And just as the amount of time passed had startled him, so did the reactions of the others.

"Merlin!" Tobe shrieked, barreling across the field to throw himself into a full-body hug – and at least he'd put down the practice sword before doing it. "You're well again! You're back! I knew you could do it!"

And if Arthur had not moved behind Merlin to help brace him, the boy might well have tackled him back down to the grass. He felt Arthur laughing softly against his back as he tried to disentangle himself from the boy's skinny arms. Gwen was not far behind, having dropped her basket and gathered her skirts to meet them all the faster, reaching up to crook her elbow around Merlin's neck – and Arthur's by the way she squeezed the king tighter against Merlin too, hugging them both at once with Tobe in the middle – grunting and squirming now to get out.

"Oh, _Merlin_ ," she said, just as she had in the tunnel below Fyrien, to see him alive again. "Oh, we _hoped_ – and you've done it, broken the enchantment at last! I'm so glad!" She pulled his head down awkwardly to reach his temple for a kiss.

"Guinevere," Arthur growled, his irritation reverberating through Merlin's body before he persuaded her to let go of him, but the king sounded amused, also.

"Hush," Gwen scolded Arthur; there were tears in her eyes as she smiled. "How do you feel now, Merlin?" Tobe had a hold of Merlin's hand and pumped it childishly as he danced in place, each moment unbalancing him, then pushing him back in place.

"Fine," Merlin supposed, reaching for the hand Percival offered over Tobe's head. Surprised again when the big man, wearing a grin to match Tobe's, used his grip on Merlin's wrist to pull him forward and slap his other arm around Merlin's shoulders.

"Welcome back," Percival said, simply but with a deep quiet sort of joyfulness.

"Arthur said you've been guarding me," Merlin said. "Thank you for that."

"My pleasure," Percival said, and meant it. Elyan squeezed Merlin's other arm with a smith's strength, conveying wordless but heartfelt congratulations. "I hope you can forgive us for what happened at the tomb," Percival added.

Merlin assumed he meant the arrow. "Of course – it wasn't your fault." He glanced over his shoulder at Arthur. "Borden –"

"Is dead," Arthur finished.

Merlin nodded, turned back to Percival. "I understand you brought me and the egg back safely –"

"With Gwaine and Bors."

"Thank you." He'd have to talk to Arthur later, make sure what he'd heard the king say about the egg, hadn't been a dream. Later, they'd talk about Balinor, too. He wondered if Gaius had told Arthur. He said to Percival, "What happened to the tomb?"

"It collapsed," Percival said. "We nearly didn't make it out."

Merlin couldn't help a mournful noise. Those pillars – those sigils… well, at least they had the egg. He opened his mouth to ask Arthur if he could see it – receiving chamber, hadn't he said – but in turning he glimpsed the stranger druid woman, next to Brenner who was keeping a respectful distance.

She smiled in a tremulous way. _Welcome back, Emrys_ , she said into his mind. _That was very well done, breaking the enchantment. Very quickly done, and thoroughly – you well deserve the honor of your title_.

"Thank you," he said aloud, not feeling deserving; he never did. "I'm sorry – I don't know your name?"

"My name is Shana," she said. "I've come here with Iseldir."

Merlin couldn't help turning a happy, hopeful grin on Arthur. "Druids in Camelot."

"The council tried to have a fit," Arthur said drily.

Merlin made a dismissive noise, and returned to his interrupted idea. "Can I see it?"

"What, the council having a fit?" Arthur grinned, proud of his wit – he was feeling fine, Merlin recognized. And privately loved, every time. Even if it sometimes came out with insults at Merlin's expense.

"I meant the dragon's egg." It occurred to him to wonder, _which_ dragon the egg had belonged to – and mourned for a moment the hate and fear that had nearly annihilated the race. The little dragonet would never know its father, either. Have to make do with Kilgarrah and Merlin – heaven help them all.

"Of course." Arthur gestured, turning.

Merlin's first step betrayed him. Standing, the numbness lingered with him, but when he bent his knee his weight kept going down. He'd have sprawled flat on his face on the training field – not the first time – if there hadn't been so many people around him, watching him.

Percival caught his elbow, and he was tall enough to keep Merlin upright with that grip. Somehow Arthur was under his other arm, and Tobe clinging to his waist, looking up at him in alarm.

"Sorry," he said. "I must still be a bit – disconnected."

"Can you walk?" Gwen asked, concern wrinkling her brow.

"I can manage." He gave her a reassuring smile.

"I'll help him," Arthur declared, steadying Merlin in his stance before letting go. "We've things to discuss anyway. Percival, you are relieved of duty til Gwaine gets back – we're going to have a banquet one of these nights and your attendance will be required."

The king's expression gave nothing away, but Brenner raised his eyebrows slightly and Gwen covered a smile with her hand. Merlin didn't dare look at Percival, himself.

"Brenner, you're on duty later, I believe. Tobe, run tell your father the good news? And ladies, if you'd let Gaius and Iseldir know, we're heading for the audience chamber."

And then it was just the two of them.

"Catch me if I fall," Merlin said to Arthur, testing his legs again.

"Only if we're at a stair," the king retorted amusedly.

His knees felt untrustworthy, but though Arthur kept one broad shoulder in easy reach, ambling to the edge of the field, Merlin only needed it twice to catch his balance. "So – over a week," he said. "What did I miss?"

"That depends on who you ask," Arthur said.

"You seem – better, too," Merlin said. More confident, more relaxed; at least nothing and no one had attacked or threatened Camelot this week. "It _has_ only been a week, right?"

"Let's just say, priorities got rearranged." They passed under the arched entrance to the citadel proper, the two guards falling into step several paces behind them; it wasn't hard to ignore their presence. "We stated our position to our allies, and word will get round to the other kingdoms, too. Nemeth wants to schedule a visit – and there may be other such requests, too."

As they walked, Arthur went on about Odin and the northern border. Merlin realized that there would be problems with that since Lord Bernard was in prison because of the enchantment.

Halfway up the first stair Arthur interrupted his own flow of thought to remark conversationally, "You know, I think you actually moved faster when you were sleepwalking."

"I wasn't sleeping," Merlin contradicted, out of breath and impatient with wobbly wooden legs. "I'm sorry, sire, am I slowing you down? You must be awfully busy – don't let me keep you from the vital affairs of the kingdom."

"This is one of them," Arthur said mildly. "A dragon's egg, the last dragonlord –"

Merlin missed a step and Arthur made a grab for him, at the last minute adjusting the motion to avoid the tender area of the burn, that still pulled slightly when he stretched. He reminded himself to check it later, when he was alone, except – Arthur said they knew about it, didn't he.

"It's getting better," Arthur said, letting go as Merlin regained balance. "You should tell me who did that, though."

"Nope," Merlin said, turning to see who was jogging toward them up the stair.

Leon, cloaked and out of breath, looking both shocked and pleased to see Merlin.

"Oh, you're awake!" the knight said, momentarily ignoring Arthur, reaching to take Merlin's upper arms in a comradely fashion. "I'm so glad – how do you feel?"

"Bit shaky yet," Merlin said, "but I'm fine."

"Good. Oh – well, good," Leon corrected himself, with a wry shake of his head, and addressed Arthur. "Bors reported, he finally made contact with the druids after wandering for days – and he thinks they might have been watching him for a while before they let him find them. They wouldn't come – said they couldn't do anything for Merlin anyway…"

Arthur snorted, giving Merlin a look of narrow amusement. "Maybe they knew they didn't have to?"

Merlin only shrugged. Personally he couldn't imagine why anyone would want to look for the future, but he supposed it made sense the druids would, occasionally, when it came to him and Arthur.

"But," Leon finished, "they were amenable to meeting with your representative in the future for discussion and understanding."

"Good." Arthur was pleased. "Tell Bors well done."

"I did, sire."

"Then, if you would, please see the steward about organizing a banquet in two nights' time. And tell the council, day after tomorrow at the earliest."

Leon cast an understated smile in Merlin's direction, and bowed his departure. "Yes, sire. I'll see you later, Merlin."

By the time they reached the receiving chamber, they'd encountered a dozen or more of the citadel's inhabitants – servants, guards, courtiers – and their reactions were unanimously, glad to see Merlin. It made him self-consciously happy, but odd; it was a very different experience from the last time he'd traveled these halls.

"Are you sure this isn't a dream?" he asked the king as they paused for him to rest at the last turn. "Everyone is so… welcoming."

"I told you things got better after the enchantment," Arthur said. "It was like… pity overcame fear."

"Whatever it takes, right?" Merlin said, a bit grumpily. "What did you do, parade me up and down in front of everyone?"

A corner of Arthur's mouth pulled sideways; he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall next to Merlin. "And through the lower town. There was talk of making a progress through the entire kingdom, but – it would have been too expensive."

Merlin snorted. "As long as I was fully clothed, every time."

Arthur's mouth dropped open a bit; Merlin couldn't tell whether he was genuinely offended, or regretted not having the idea himself in time to implement it. "Well, there was that one time we let Tobe dress you…"

Merlin scoffed and swung his fist to connect with the king's upper arm – it didn't budge Arthur or his grin one bit.

"But no, we didn't do anything to mock or embarrass you," Arthur said. "You wouldn't have done it to me, in your place, would you."

Merlin said immediately, "In a heartbeat."

"Come on. That's enough rest for you." Arthur prodded and shoved, and Merlin stumbled – but the numb sensation was fading and his movements felt more controlled.

The guards at the door anticipated the king, opening them wide – and on duty, they didn't react noticeably to the change in Merlin's condition, he was glad to see.

There it was, halfway down the room to the left, between two of the columns on a high narrow table. No lines of enchantment tethering it in place, no false sunlight giving it an ethereal glow. Merlin went to it and spread both hands on the shell – it was warm, and he was happy.

"I want to – apologize, Merlin," Arthur said from just behind him, sounding a shade more serious and less happy than a moment ago when they were teasing. "Gaius explained about your father… I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when he died, like you were when my father…"

Merlin turned without taking his hands from the egg, frowning slightly. As much as he used to tease Arthur about manners, Arthur used his so rarely – and deliberately – it often made Merlin feel slightly ashamed when his friend was polite. "It's all right, you didn't know."

"Well, I do now. And I understand with you as dragonlord, we've nothing to fear from the great dragon, nor this one. But please…" He shifted half a step closer. "Please don't keep from me your plans and decisions concerning this –"

"Merlin!"

Joyfully and unmistakably Gaius, at the door, pausing with his hand on his chest, his white hair a bit windblown as if he'd rushed to get there – and neither Merlin nor Arthur minded the interruption. Merlin left the egg and moved immediately to the old man's embrace. "Oh, my boy. You're back."

"How much longer are you going to keep calling me that?" Merlin said, happy to feel the old physician's love and concern in his grip, something in the aroma of his robes making Merlin feel safe and loved and at home.

"Til the end of my life if you keep insisting on shortening it by shocking me!" Gaius retorted, pushing Merlin to arm's length to study him with a clinical eye.

"I am sorry, Gaius," Merlin said. And couldn't resist adding, "I hear you've been telling Arthur some more of my secrets while I've been unawares, again."

"Not a bit of it," Gaius answered, unabashed. "He guessed."

"He guessed?" Merlin said incredulously, wheeling about to stare at the king sauntering to join them.

"Don't act so surprised, it does happen on occasion," Arthur drawled. "Good afternoon, Iseldir."

Merlin turned to see that the druid had joined them from the hallway.

 _Emrys. Shana was right, then, you have accomplished your own freedom – so quickly and completely. I have to say, you exceeded my expectations, though your guardian Gaius assures me this is no uncommon thing_ … A smile lurked around the older man's habitual serenity.

"Welcome to Camelot," Merlin said, happy and amused. "Arthur tells me you helped him get inside the enchantment – otherwise I probably wouldn't even have known it was there to be escaped. Crystals, he said?"

Iseldir pulled his hands from the depths of his cloak to show a curious dual crystal, clear and smoke, conjoined with a subtle and delicate magic, the twin silver chains sparkling with their own energy. "The Seowan crystals."

" _Oh_ ," Merlin said, understanding and curiosity both, and reached to touch –

And the citadel's warning bell clanged.

Once, twice, thrice – and kept going. Imminent widespread danger, everyone take refuge, all defenders alert to their posts.

Arthur swept past all three of them. Merlin made to follow; Gaius caught his forearm, cautioning, "Merlin…" because probably he'd seen, Merlin was not at his physical best.

But of course he couldn't let Arthur face danger alone. Prying off the old man's hand, he reassured both Gaius and Iseldir, "It'll be fine."

Two steps down the corridor in the king's wake, a guard dashed into view, taking the turn almost as clumsy as Merlin, in his haste.

"What is it, what's going on?" Arthur demanded, not slowing.

"Dragon, sire!" the man gasped. "A dragon's been sighted, flew nearly right over the lower town. Sky's losing light, but it was certain. Some say it landed in the forest within sight of the city!" He pointed for extra emphasis.

Arthur stopped, and Merlin flinched – but when the king turned around to impale him with a glare, hands on hips, Merlin was surprised to see a quirk of humor at his mouth, and a glint of something that wasn't fury in those royal blue eyes.

"A dragon, Merlin? Care to explain?"

Merlin dared to approach. "Well, I may have… more or less… inadvertently summoned him. While I was under the enchantment, while I was trying to break out of the enchantment. But he won't hurt anyone if no one attacks him, I promise, and I can send him away –"

Was Arthur _laughing_?

"You mean to say," his friend said, stalking him and pinning him in place with a hand on his shoulder, "that you accidentally summoned a _dragon_ in your _sleep_?"

"I wasn't sleeping," Merlin protested. "but… um… yes?"

Arthur threw back his head and let his shout of laughter peal out. "You seem to attract a special kind of insanity, Merlin," he said, letting his full grin show. "Would it be very unwise of me at this point to admit that I've missed it?"

Merlin couldn't help smiling too. "I can ride out and tell him to go away again?"

"Of course you can." Arthur shook his head; he hadn't moved his hand from Merlin's shoulder. "Come – we'll ride together."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur took the long way around, heading for his chamber before the stables. And just as it felt perfect to have Merlin's presence half a step behind and beside him, it was also very heartening to know, this was really no crisis. It felt good to reassure his people, worried by the bell and the fast-whispered rumors, without having to hide the fear and uncertainty churning in his own gut.

He dispensed with his two bodyguards immediately, sending one to silence the warning bell and the other to assemble a mounted patrol. Including Sir Leon. Arthur figured the only other survivor of the attack a year and a half ago, had the right to face the beast.

Orryn was at the bedchamber window, cleaning rag in hand as he craned to see the activity in the courtyard.

"It's a dragon," Arthur said unceremoniously, startling his middle-aged manservant. He left the door swinging wide and went to the side table for his sword. "But don't worry – we have a dragonlord."

Orryn looked past him at Merlin, and the anxious pinch of his face smoothed into a smile of relief. "Oh, Merlin," he said, "Tobe told me the good news, and I'm so glad to see you yourself again. I don't know anything about enchantments, but –"

"It's all right," Merlin interrupted him, sounding faintly embarrassed.

Which Arthur enjoyed fully. Merlin had worried many people throughout the citadel, more than the most optimistic guess could have predicted. It was only fair he endure all this sort of attention, after all the awkward sympathy and waning hope Arthur had faced the last week.

Then Merlin had the audacity to add, "Let me guess, His Royal Highness was impossible this week. Like a bear with a bee-stung behind?"

As if Arthur was not standing right there. But after all, he preferred this to Merlin's somnolent silence, or even the respectful avoidance that had gone before.

"No," Orryn said, neatly sidestepping the verbal trap without offense. "He was – quiet." The servant whispered the last, glancing at Arthur.

Whatever extra meaning the single word conveyed, Merlin understood and sobered, with a similar glance at Arthur. "Ah. I'm sorry…"

"Never mind," Orryn said. "We'll all be fine, now."

And Arthur felt damnably self-conscious, listening to former and present manservant discuss him like they knew him better than he knew himself. He strode to the door again, demanding of Merlin, "Would you rather stay here and chat?"

"He'd probably roast you if I wasn't there," Merlin said cheerfully – neither of them believed it – and he moved quickly to follow Arthur.

Whatever lingered of the enchantment had finally dissipated, Arthur thought, unable to see any signs of weakness or fatigue in his friend as they took the stairs downward two at a time – though he knew from personal experience, the rush of energy a situation of possible danger brought, was good for wiping away weariness.

In the courtyard they found an escort of half a dozen men, including Leon, and Arthur paused on the third-to-the-last step to address them.

"We ride to meet the dragon – but not as enemies, and not for battle. Merlin here was born of the old dragonlord stock – thank our lucky stars – so he will undertake to communicate with the dragon on behalf of Camelot. Our protection is ceremonial – if I see a single weapon drawn without obvious provocation, I'll have that man doing remedial training with Percival for a week. Understood?"

The granite masks of men facing certain death in battle cracked as he spoke, into astonishment and relief, and Arthur's parting quip served to reassure them as nothing else could have. Arthur swung himself up into the saddle, gathering reins; Merlin followed him, but evidently thought they weren't quite ready to depart.

"Arthur," he said. "Gwen."

He twisted in the saddle to see that she'd come out at the top of the stair. Grinning because life was good that day, and even an unexpected visit from a dragon could be interpreted beneficial, he kissed his hand to her as they lit the first of the torches around the walls. He wished he could be closer, to see the blush on her cheeks for that action done in front of the entire courtyard.

Leading his men and Merlin beside him at a walk through the lower town, he lost a bit of his good humor to see that the common people – his people – had deserted the streets and market not because of the end of the day, but to cower terrified in their homes. A handful of the braver men, it seemed, had ventured out to monitor the situation. No matter that the bell warned just such action, Arthur was not pleased that these innocents had very real cause to panic at the sight of the dragon in the sky.

"Oh, Sire – a dragon, we sawr it! Do you ride to – fight it, Sire?" A bit of puzzlement, since they weren't hurrying, and he wasn't wearing armor.

"I have reason to believe we need not ever fear the dragon again," he answered clearly, not slowing their pace further. Along the street, two doors and one window-shutter creaked open. "We ride to negotiate."

He didn't say so, but he thought quite a few of them clever enough to guess his reason was the sorcerer who rode at his side. Behind them, more curious emerged, in the absence of spreading fire and screaming neighbors and hollering warriors. He remembered Merlin had said, _What if there was some big catastrophe, some fatal plague, some undead army – so that everyone could see I mean no harm, I only want to protect…_

This might count, Arthur thought.

"If you didn't think you needed it, and didn't intend to use it," Merlin murmured beside him, "why'd you bring your sword, sire?" As always, that word signaled his irreverent frame of mind.

"It's symbolic," Arthur said loftily. "You wouldn't understand."

His friend made a rude noise as they rode through the gate, twisting around to glance behind them, toying with his reins in both hands. Arthur glanced at him in the twilight dim – pale face, distracted eyes, hunched shoulders – and took a second look. Not the remaining effect of the enchantment.

"Merlin!" he said. "You're nervous!"

"No, I'm not," Merlin denied immediately.

Arthur wasn't having it, not now that he _knew_ his friend. "What do you have to be nervous about? You said you were kin."

"We are," Merlin said, staring somewhat blindly ahead, trying to braid his reins into his mare's mane. "It's just… I rarely tried to imagine what it would be like, telling you… talking to you…" He gave Arthur an uncharacteristically shy look, and Arthur nodded. "I _never_ thought I'd be introducing you to _him_."

"Mm. I never thought I'd have the opportunity to speak to the dragon, either," Arthur said, feeling a little grim, again. Those memories came a little clearer now – the injuries, the casualties. The pervasive and debilitating hopelessness. Merlin's apologies – repeated, tearful, breathless, as he bore a burden of self-imposed blame he couldn't share.

"You're angry," Merlin guessed.

And that was probably not going to settle his friend's nerves. "No," Arthur said, drawing the word out until it was true. More… disappointed, maybe. "You forgave him, though? How'd you manage that?" Even though Merlin forgave everyone, and so easily.

"I had to. I am the last dragonlord, and he was the last dragon..." Merlin cast a guarded look his way to see if Arthur had realized the statement was now untrue – wondering if that egg in Camelot changed things.

But now they could see glimpses through the trees of a giant opaque mass moving as if settling into the clearing, and Arthur couldn't begin to guess at the range of hearing for dragons. The horses showed signs of disquiet, so he signaled dismount.

"He's in the clearing ahead, it looks like," Arthur told the other knights over his shoulder as they tethered their mounts and lit torches. The light reached forward between leaves and branches and touched bronze-gleaming scales. "You all will remain at the tree-line to guard and observe. Leon, you're with us, if you like."

Leon nodded. Merlin said, "Maybe I should go first, don't you think? I should go first."

"He knows who we are, and that we're here, doesn't he?" Arthur said. The ground shuddered and the leaves above them rustled as the beast shifted position, lowering its head – not to look at them straight on, but Arthur rather thought a single eye sideways was probably sufficient for its vision. Merlin nodded, and Arthur disliked seeing him uncertain – now that he knew what his sorcerer was capable of. "Well, then, Merlin. It's whatever you think best."

"Okay. Okay. Let's go, then."

Arthur watched his friend gather resolve, straightening shoulders and spine as he marched to the edge of the clearing. It reminded him of certain times in his own past, facing situations as a new king, and many more as crown prince. It was a moment when words held little meaning, and the firm support of a stalwart companion made all the difference to confidence.

He'd be that companion for Merlin, now.

Moving with the young dragonlord past the attendant knights at the tree-line, he paused halfway between them and the place where Merlin took his stand. Right up to the old dragon - who looked even larger at rest than what Arthur remembered of him in flight – chin up to look directly into the dragon's eyes. Damn, what courage the younger man had and hid.

And then, inexplicably, Merlin bowed. Arthur's heart caught in his chest to see that, and the obvious respect, and he blinked hard to hide a twinge of hurt jealousy that was unbecoming.

The dragon bowed its great head gracefully in response – but also, Arthur recognized, subordination.

"You called for me, young warlock," he said, in a voice like poisoned rock, that send a chill up Arthur's spine.

"It was unintentional," Merlin said, sounding apologetic. "There was an enchantment and I was trying to burn it rather than break it, and I guess I didn't think that –"

"Of course you didn't think," the dragon said, condescending in spite of his tacit acceptance of the inferior position in their relationship. "You rarely do, young warlock, and someday you may have cause to regret the habit."

Arthur remembered one certain childhood tutor. Who called him _my lord_ and _young prince_ with sarcastic politeness, and never failed to point out how far short Arthur always fell of his own intellect. Perhaps the dragon acknowledged Merlin his lord, but that was a far cry from the sort of loyal support Merlin had always shown Arthur, when he needed it. It wasn't encouragement in great or new responsibility, it wasn't trust or confidence in leadership. It wasn't a lending of knowledge or ability to the lord's position, but – almost – a subtle way of undermining it.

And of course Merlin wouldn't recognize that. He thought in a peasant's simplistic terms, and _trusted_. Arthur was offended on Merlin's behalf.

Merlin mumbled something that sounded chagrined, that the dragon didn't respond to, instead giving a martyr's sigh, settling on the grass of the clearing like a cat. "Tell me what happened, then."

Arthur decided the great beast also knew exactly who he was, though he was wearing neither armor nor cape nor crown – and delighted in ignoring him. Making him wait. Merlin thought the same, from his glance – uneasy at the thought of Arthur resenting and reacting badly, but not quite brave enough, at this moment, to defy his much older and larger kin. Much as Arthur had hesitated to interrupt or contradict or disobey the lesser-ranked tutor.

He determined to keep his temper, at least. Not because Arthur was afraid of what the dragon might do if he lost it – though without Merlin's presence the dragon might very well have decided to roast him for his father's sins. But because – truce called by Merlin – the great dragon was still a political opponent, and Arthur was far better trained to handle that than farm-raised Merlin.

The dragon was being petty in a way only someone who was and ought to act above that sort of thing, could be. As a deliberate indulgence, a private amusement, almost.

So Arthur stood and waited, patient and unaffected.

"So you are no longer the last of your kind," Merlin concluded, having understated the enchantment he'd been under the past week. As well as the brilliance and triumph of conquering it himself.

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes, figuring his friend would not appreciate any emphasis on what could be viewed as a mistake, by the great creature in front of them both.

"It would seem not," the dragon mused, swinging his great head about to gaze in the direction of Camelot.

"When will it hatch?" Merlin asked curiously. "It's been dormant so long, is there anything we should be doing for it?"

Arthur wanted to signal him, _not necessary, don't have this conversation with him_ , but couldn't think how, without drawing the dragon's attention. And now regretted that they hadn't had the chance for the full discussion of the egg, in the receiving chamber in Camelot.

"Young dragons," said the great one, tipping one eye to his lord, "were called into the world by the dragonlords. Only they had the power to summon them from the egg. As the last dragonlord, this solemn duty falls to you, Merlin."

 _Not very_ _patient, is he_? Arthur scoffed internally. And wished with all his soul that he had the right to speak up with his own opinion. Unless they decided upon a course that would be clearly detrimental for Camelot, he'd have to keep biting his tongue.

"How do I summon it?"

"You must give the dragon a name. Where is the egg now? You brought it with you, did you not, dragonlord?"

"No, it's –" Merlin gestured at Arthur, and there was embarrassment there. "In Camelot."

"What?" the great dragon said, rearing its head back. "You'd leave the last of my kind defenseless in the lair of butchers?"

Every word carefully chosen. Spoken with calculation. The creature was testing Arthur, at least, maybe both of them. Merlin swiveled to face him, almost panicked, one hand rising in a motion Arthur recognized, as if he instinctively expected Arthur to have his sword half-drawn already, and a magical defense necessary.

And that hurt, too. But it was more the dragon's fault than Merlin's. He was manipulative, and Merlin was a person of sensitivity and emotion. Which was a very good thing for all the rest of them…

"I do beg your pardon," Arthur said, stepping forward slowly, to reach Merlin's side and stand facing the dragon. Right down its maw, glistening in the torchlight and he'd seen the fire and felt the angry heat, before. "Insults before introductions is very poor manners."

"Indeed," the dragon said mockingly.

"Kilgarrah, you know this is Arthur. King Arthur," Merlin amended swiftly. "Arthur, this is Kilgarrah."

"King Arthur. The once and future." The dragon dipped his head in a sardonic parody of the salute he'd given Merlin. "This is truly an honor."

"I wish I could say the same," Arthur said honestly. "You have a great deal of death and destruction to answer for."

"Arthur…" Merlin murmured unhappily.

He looked at his friend, feeling the same. "You can forgive him, and perhaps it is right for you to do so," he said. "I cannot. On behalf of my people, I cannot." He looked up again at Kilgarrah, perusing him with an unreadable draconic expression, his neck arched. "I would hear your defense, if you're minded to present one."

An enormous low rumbling sounded from his throat or chest or both, and Arthur had to stop himself stepping back.

"Very fair, young king," the dragon said. "You are aware, no doubt, that your father betrayed the trust of this one's father, and sought his life. That he took the lives of many others of my kind and his. That he chained me under your citadel for twenty years!"

"I am aware," Arthur said. "And whatever deeds he committed that he must answer for – he is doing so, now. We were speaking of you. One man's – person's – being's transgressions are never justification for another's."

"In gaining my freedom after so long in chains, I lost control. I lost my temper and behaved rashly." And didn't sound a bit contrite, either. "And since then –"

"No, I don't believe it," Arthur interrupted calmly. Merlin made a noise in his throat and pinched a fold of Arthur's sleeve. "How old are you, a thousand years? Two decades of time would be – negligent, in comparison. You didn't cause destruction to effect your escape, which would at least be understandable. Instead you returned the next night. And again, and again. You sought revenge…"

Arthur did not say all he thought. Never would say, all he thought on the matter, since Gaius had given him the explanation of those events. He had no right to raise his suspicion.

That this beast knew who Merlin was from the beginning, whose son Merlin was, and the continued attacks on Camelot that did not bring Uther out to face the dragon's wrath and die as he no doubt wished, was punishment for both men accountable for his captivity. Uther lost many warriors, innocent people he was responsible for, and the confidence of the rest – and Balinor was brought out of hiding to his own death.

Perhaps the dragon anticipated Uther rewarding the dragonlord with his own lifelong incarceration in turn – since the pyre would only bring the dragon's retribution down upon them uncontrolled – or perhaps he figured on Merlin finally deciding that his loyalties lay elsewhere. Perhaps Arthur would still have seen truth and justice when it came to magic, and perhaps his friendship with Merlin would have been over, regardless.

And he would not compete with Kilgarrah, over Merlin.

"You are no better than Uther," Arthur concluded. Not accusingly, but still with that regretful disappointment, that it should be so. "Your dragonlord is my right hand, my most trusted. He is magic returned to Camelot and I will value him and keep his place open to him til the end of my reign."

Merlin sounded like he was choking; Arthur ignored him.

"I understand that his is the final word when it comes to you and the unknown new dragon, but know this, Kilgarrah…" He paused a moment, then included Merlin with a glance, giving him the full weight and respect he'd give another monarch, before turning his gaze upward again. "You are not welcome in Camelot. For your crimes against my people, I hereby banish you from our borders."

He didn't add, _on pain of death_. He didn't add any strictures regarding the air-space above Camelot. Because a king knows not to voice a threat he cannot or will not follow through on.

"Arthur," Merlin said in a low, hurried voice, "there may be times when I have to-"

"I understand," he said. _I really do_. "And I trust your discretion." He really did. If Merlin deemed Kilgarrah's presence necessary, for whatever unforeseen reason in the future, Arthur would choose to trust that.

"I'm sorry, Kilgarrah," Merlin called up to the dragon, after a thoughtful moment. "I will not rescind my banishment of you, either. You shall have to watch Albion flower from afar."

The dragon rumbled again in his chest, and Arthur could not guess how displeased he was. _I've withstood dragonfire_ , he reminded himself; Merlin's proximity was his safety, too.

"And the youngling?" the dragon said.

"Will not be hatching immediately."

Arthur looked at Merlin; they hadn't had a chance yet to discuss the question, given the new information, to find out what the other was thinking. Would Merlin take his advice, anyway, or resent it?

"It has waited three hundred years," Merlin continued, "it can wait a while longer, while the people of Camelot adjust to the idea of magic. Of druids, and dragons. I would have it hatch into a world that admires and applauds, rather than hating and shunning."

"And you think Camelot will be such a place, under Arthur," Kilgarrah said, looking down on Merlin. "I can take the youngling to far fastnesses, raise and teach it –"

"There will be time for that," Merlin said, interrupting Arthur's reaction of _Noooo – that's not a good idea_ , to let him form and influence a young one's character. "I will call you," Merlin added to Kilgarrah, spare a glance for Arthur. "You should be there for the hatching."

Arthur bent his head in acknowledgement. Compromise, again.

Kilgarrah hummed in his poison-stone voice. "Better than I had hoped for," he commented inexplicably. "Farewell, young warlock. I hope I shall see you before too long."

"Goodbye, Kilgarrah," Merlin called, ducking a little against the wind those great leathery wings whipped up.

As Arthur turned a shoulder for shelter and noticed that at least two of his knights' torches had been blown out by the gusts, he decided he was content that Merlin should remain friends with whoever he chose. Merlin always saw the best in people – and dragons too, evidently – and he didn't want that to change. He himself had probably benefitted the most from that particular trait, anyway.

"Whew!" Merlin exclaimed, after the dragon got several hundred feet of air under his wings, rising nearly out of sight against the deep-blue sky, banking to depart Camelot's lands. "I'm glad that's over… You could've been nicer, I thought, Arthur."

"No," he said. "That's what I have you for."

They turned to see Leon already halfway to them from the tree-line. And he wasn't the sort, after all, to hold a personal grudge against an old adversary who'd come to terms with his sovereign.

"That was very well done, sire, if I may say so," the knight remarked.

"Thank you, Leon."

A smile threatened the usually-calm knight's composure as he looked between them. "Gwaine is not going to be happy he missed this."

Arthur snorted. Merlin groaned.

 **A/N: Sorry no Gwaine, I really did think I was going to fit in a section for him at the end, here… but more Arthur &Merlin! I've been waiting to write this scene – Arthur & Kilgarrah – since I started this story! Next chapter, Gwaine is also back in Camelot!**

 **Also, a bit of dialogue from ep.4.4 "Aithusa".**


	19. Apologies

**Chapter 19: Apologies**

For an indoors kind of girl, Alayna wasn't half bad at cross-country travel. She sat her sidesaddle dainty and uncomplaining, and if Lancelot preferred to help her mount and dismount, Gwaine was perfectly happy to let him. Even if he was only doing it because he thought he was sparing Alayna Gwaine's attentions.

For his part, Gwaine rode in the lead and smiled to hear Lancelot make conversation, pointing out a detail of the landscape or its denizens to a girl who'd spent rare time out of her chambers, much less beyond Descalot's walls. It helped, if nothing else, distract the lady from the thoughts of Camelot that distressed her.

The morning of the second day, she woke in tears.

Gwaine, stirring breakfast porridge at the fire, was closer than Lancelot saddling the horses, but he let his friend reach the lady's bedroll-side first, to try to soothe her.

"He's gone," she said, when they could get her to focus on a coherent explanation. And repeated, "He's gone, I can't find him."

"Who?" Lancelot asked.

"Merlin, from the enchantment. He's gone – it's gone…"

Lancelot looked at Gwaine with worry in his dark eyes, but Gwaine felt a different reaction. "He's done it, then, broken it himself. Or Gaius or someone."

Alayna struggled to sitting – with Lancelot's gentle help – and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand to look at him. "You think so? Really?"

"Sure." Gwaine grinned. "Didn't you say he'd figured it out, the last time you checked on him?"

"Yes…"

"There you have it." Gwaine slapped his knees and pushed himself up to dish out the porridge.

Alayne didn't seem much consoled – because she had a new worry. "Then he'll have told King Arthur, and the king will be furious, and I won't even be able to apologize by lifting the enchantment and – oh! I told Merlin about my father, what if the king has already sentenced him –"

"Please calm down, my lady," Lancelot pleaded, allowing her to turn her covered face into his shoulder. "Arthur is a reasonable man, he'll wait to hear the whole story before making any judgments."

"You promise," Alayna said between her fingers.

"If he doesn't," Gwaine said cheerfully, "I'll give back my cloak and chainmail. Here now, eat this before it gets cold again, and we can get going."

She stared dismally into the bowl he handed her. "When I was very young, I would beg my father to take me to Camelot, but after we discovered my… you know…"

"Just say magic," Gwaine invited, shoveling his own porridge into his mouth. "It's really not that hard to get used to."

"My father said, if I ever came to Camelot, it would be my doom."

"Oh, how dramatic," Gwaine laughed – and when she looked up at Lancelot for reassurance, she let a little smile show. "Please trust us. Camelot under Arthur will be a different place, you'll see."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Voices crept into his unconsciousness, fracturing it and drawing him up to the light. His old bedroom behind Gaius' chamber came into focus, a glow so warm he'd tossed off his blanket in his sleep. Full sunlight at the window but no slanted rays – at this season it meant he'd slept the morning through. His stomach growled.

"No, you can't." The voice is Gwen's, raised as she neared the end of her patience. "Gaius already said it's a natural sleep, you leave him alone and quit trying to sneak up there and look in on him – and accidentally wake him up, as likely as not."

Merlin grinned at the ceiling, imagining it was Arthur that she scolded, before rolling from his cot and padding to the door. Shut last night when he'd gone to bed, but now ajar wide enough to stick his foot through. Though he didn't really blame his old mentor for checking on him.

He splashed a little wash-water over himself and changed clothes – someone had unpacked his saddlebags from their trip to Ashkenar's tomb – and opened his door.

"Merlin!" Tobe greeted him, capering like a puppy across the floor. "Magic!"

"What?" Merlin said, looking to Gwen at the work-table for an explanation; they three were alone in the room.

"He's been waiting for you to come back to yourself so you could show him some magic," Gwen said, separating tufts of greenery from her basket, tying stems together deftly with string for hang-drying.

"It's still against the law," Merlin reminded the boy.

His face fell, and his shoulders sagged, and Gwen gave Merlin a wry smile. "You were supposed to be running errands for your mother, anyway," she prompted the boy. "And Merlin missed breakfast, so he must be very hungry for his dinner."

"Oh, is that mine?" Merlin referred to the plate on the side-table under the window. He could see some ham slices, at least two boiled eggs, a small roll of glazed bread.

"Cook sent it up this morning with her best wishes for you," Gwen remarked.

He grinned with a sudden surge of sheer good spirits, and concentrated; the plate lifted in the air, floating past Gwen, who flinched and then caught her breath. Tobe clapped his hands gleefully, and tried to jump to catch the platter.

"You're going to make me spill," Merlin said, crossing his arms over his chest and pretending to be indignant. He made the plate tip and teeter, but never quite drop the eggs – then jerk into the air. The eggs came down with an audible crack, and quit rolling. Merlin reached, and the platter sailed to his hand.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you –" Gwen was laughing too hard to scold.

"Not to play with my food?" Merlin said innocently, stuffing ham in his mouth. "Mm. She tried."

"Boys," Gwen said, shaking her head. "And speaking of which, _you_ need to be on about these errands."

"Yes, Miss Gwen, I'll see you later!" Tobe sang as he skipped to the door. "Thanks, Merlin!"

The door banged shut on a moment of silence. Gwen sighed and smiled at him as he brought his plate to the work-table to eat standing, across from her. "How do you feel?"

"Just fine," he said honestly.

"You needed your sleep," she observed, busying her hands again.

He watched her work as he ate, identifying the roots and leaves she'd gathered, mentally reviewing the tasks of preparation, anticipating their various uses.

"Where's Gaius?" he asked, when they both were mostly finished. "And Arthur?" His two masters, and though in times past he'd resented the double load of work, it made him feel content and useful, now. A little appreciation went a long way, he reflected.

"Gaius is doing rounds, Arthur was with Geoffrey this morning and I think he's going to be the on the training field this afternoon. Tomorrow he intended to hold court – and probably meet with the council – he said he wants you for that, but today you're to have for yourself."

"So generous," Merlin said sardonically, and she smiled, knowing how he really meant it. He inhaled deeply and let it out, thinking about the knights, and the councilmen.

"What is it?" she asked.

"The enchantment," he said. "In my mind, it was as if I was saving Ally –"

"The lady Alayna," she said, nodding.

And that was very strange to realize, also. Lord Bernard's daughter. "And helping her escape from Camelot. In some ways it felt… easier."

Gwen cocked her head. "Just to run away?"

"No, it wasn't that. It just felt… simple, and right, helping another user of magic, protecting her… convincing her the truth about Arthur. And now –" He wondered if he was ready to begin the daily service of his two masters, again, that would bring him into contact with Camelot's common citizens.

"You've a whole city of non-magical people that you have to convince about yourself," Gwen said. Merlin huffed a smile at how well she understood. "It may not be as hard as it was before, anymore. If you look for hope, you'll find it, Merlin." Her hands were a flurry of motion, before she stepped back and wiped them on her apron. "Come, I'll show you."

"What about your work?" Merlin said. "I shouldn't be keeping you – do you know what Gaius will say to me if –"

"Gaius has extra help," Gwen said, taking his hand and pulling him to the door. "Me and Tobe – and now you. He'll be able to spend his days behind the desk giving us orders, soon."

Merlin followed her down the tower stair. "He'll hate it. Anyway Tobe might decide he wants to be a knight and you're destined for greater things than a physician's assistant…" She gave him a look equal parts warning and pleased-to-be-teased because she knew he meant, _Arthur_. "And I, have a long way to go before people trust me with their medicaments."

"We'll see," Gwen said. "Now, pay attention."

It wasn't five minutes before he saw that she was right. The reactions he'd seen yesterday, walking the citadel corridors with the king, weren't just luck or chance.

No one responded with fear, or stopped suddenly in their tracks, backing up before turning to take a different hall. Most of the servants spoke, and a handful of the guards nodded – but the greetings and pleasantries included Merlin equally, even if they were shy and awkward.

They ended up at the head of the great stair leading down to the main courtyard. At late-spring mid-afternoon, and after the walk his body felt less accustomed to than normal, he drifted to the side to seat himself and she joined him, tucking her skirt around her ankles. And no one in the busy courtyard gave them so much as a second glance, going calmly about their duties.

"Do you know what you're going to name the dragon?" she asked.

He grimaced. "I don't think it's like – naming a dog or a cat or a horse. You know, watching them for a bit and trying a few possibilities out, how they sound, before picking one that fits. For one, we won't see it til after I name it… I honestly think it might be more, that dragon telling me, what it's name is. At that moment when we're both ready."

She nodded with perceptive interest, and he laughed lightly, reaching to squeeze her hand on her knee. She smiled and said, "What?"

"You," he said. "Are a very gracious lady, Gwen. All of Camelot is lucky to have you, and I am very thankful you're my friend."

Her color heightened in self-conscious protest – but the clatter of horses' hooves entering the courtyard took their attention.

"That's them," Merlin said immediately. "Gwaine and Lancelot."

And the third rider, between Gwaine in the lead and Lancelot in the rear, was the girl in gray with short dark curls. Merlin stood immediately and trotted down the stairs, drawing Gwaine's eye as he glanced alertly about. Gwaine laughed out loud, kicking one leg over his saddle and dropping unceremoniously. Completely abandoning his mouth to meet Merlin, he threw both arms around him unhesitatingly.

"I knew it!" he said fiercely in Merlin's ear, before giving him a shake and releasing him.

"Quite a lot of people have been saying that, actually," Merlin grinned.

"Well, it's true – we all believe in you. Scared us, when that arrow hit you – and then it was blue lines up your skin and unconsciousness and my opinion, that was actually better than the sleepwalking."

"I wasn't asleep," Merlin laughed, because sometimes Arthur and Gwaine were very much alike. Past his friend he watched Lancelot hand the lady down from her mare, and she was radiating discomfort.

"No, I know – she explained it. She tried to explain it." Gwaine shrugged, and Lancelot led the girl around the back of Gwaine's horse to meet them.

And though Gwaine stood next to him to look at the girl, Lancelot stood next to _her_ , to look at Merlin. Hm. Though he did reach out and squeeze Merlin's upper arm – Merlin twined his arm around his friend's to return the gesture of welcome.

"You all right?" he asked Lancelot, having heard how Borden ambushed him.

"I am. And you?"

Merlin nodded, and Lancelot released him.

"I suppose you two must have met before," Gwaine said casually, "but may we present Lady Alayna of Descalot – and this is Merlin, of course."

Her eyes were on the cobblestones, and she was sheet-white, swaying into Lancelot's supporting arm. Remembering how timid she'd been, and how unnerving it might be for a magic-user to come to Camelot for the first time anyway – and the likelihood of guilt and fear of punishment in her mix of emotion, Merlin simply held out his hand, into her field of vision.

Then unfurled his fingers, turning his palm upward to show a fresh pure daisy. Gwaine _almost_ stifled a snort, and Gwen's soft intake of breath was _almost_ inaudible.

"They're not afraid to show a golden eye to the world," Merlin said softly. Ally reached to take the flower, fingers trembling. "Soon, we won't be, either."

"So poetic," Gwaine teased, landing a light punch on his shoulder.

Gwen said in a mock-whine, "I want a flower."

"Ask Arthur," was Gwaine's rejoinder. Merlin recognized when this friend of his was feeling very good, too – and he was glad that Lancelot didn't so much as wince at the reference to Arthur and Gwen's developing relationship.

Ally glanced around at them, awed and uncertain, and twirled the daisy in her fingers.

"I meant what I said," Merlin told her gently. "We'll have to talk, but I'm not mad. Now, this is –"

She stepped forward abruptly, gripping his hand and staring into his eyes with tearful intensity. "I'm so sorry!" she gasped out, and the tears overflowed to tumble down her face. "Merlin – I'm so sorry for what I did to you. I can't excuse it by saying I listened to another or I acted upon loyalty owed, or that I didn't know you, or understand – I did the wrong thing and it hurt you and I'm so sorry!"

If he'd known her a little better, he'd have hugged her. But he didn't, and Lancelot's arm was at her shoulders, anyway.

"Ally," he said. "Hey, it's all right, there's no need to cry –"

"Can you ever forgive me?" she interrupted. "Someday, please?"

"How does right now suit you?" He smiled. "Really. I'm not hurt and I don't blame you, and if you like we can even be friends."

" _Oh_ ," she said, and two fresh tears rolled down her face.

"My lady, you must be tired," Lancelot said to her. "It would be good to rest…"

Ally nodded, and Merlin continued with his introduction, turning to find a startled smile on Gwen's face, that hinted she'd caught a bit of the significance of Lancelot's situation, too. And approved.

"This is Gwen," he said. "Make friends with her, too, she'll be wonderful for you." Gwen reached for Ally's hand with sincere warmth.

"I'll have your things sent up, my lady," Lancelot added.

She glanced back as Gwen began to draw her to the steps, and said in a small voice, "My father?"

"He's in a cell for the time being – but honestly, it's a much nicer cell than where we met," Merlin told her, trying to raise her spirits and reassure her with humor. "I'm sure Arthur will let you talk to your father whenever you like – and you needn't see him either until you're ready. I'll speak to him for you, don't worry."

"And so will I," Gwen added. "We'll make sure Arthur is on his nicest behavior." The two girls began to ascend the stairs, the maid's words to her noble companion indistinct, but soothing.

And if Lancelot's eyes followed them, Merlin was fairly sure it was not to see that Gwen reached the top without mishap.

"And you don't mind the magic?" he said to his friend, from pure curiosity. The only girl he'd ever even considered loving, had been a druid. The potential match between someone who had magic and someone who didn't, intrigued him.

"What?" Lancelot said, distracted.

Gwaine snorted. "If you see to the horses and the lady's things – because we all know you want to – I'll report to Arthur."

"He's on the training field with Leon," Merlin remembered. "I'll go with you."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"How was your trip?" Merlin asked Gwaine as they headed for the training field – back out the main gate, around along the wall.

Gwaine shrugged his whole body, happy to be out of the saddle. "Interesting. I worried about Lancelot killing Borden before we got a chance to question him about the arrow, but Lord Descalot's steward was a suspiciously shifty fellow, and the cell-warden had quite the story about how His Lordship met with Borden himself. Evidently the first piece of that triskelion was an heirloom, Borden tried to grab it while robbing the family vault."

Merlin almost tripped, trying to keep walking and give him a quizzical look at the same time. "Was it really."

"Yep. Then Lady Alayna evidently developed an interest in Lancelot." They shared a different sort of look – amusement at their friend's expense, but touched also with a deeper relief that his unrequited pining for Gwen might cease. "She talked to me about you and about magic, and I guess finally decided to trust us with her confession. She agreed to come here and release the enchantment – and then came anyway after we figured you'd escaped it on your own."

Merlin huffed. "She asked me about the two of you, inside the enchantment."

Gwaine grunted, as the field came into sight and the clanging of armor and weaponry rose. "Quite an intelligent girl, for all her timidity and inexperience."

"I wonder what Arthur will do…" Merlin trailed off.

Arthur had been studying his men from the side of the field, pacing slowly up and down with his arms crossed over his chest; he caught sight of them and changed direction, striding purposefully to join them. As he came, he signaled to Leon, who cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed what Gwaine recognized as the signal that training was over for the day. Across the field, knights lowered weapons, stowed weapons, returned them to the tables at the side, and began to straggle off to spend time that was now their own.

"Gwaine, welcome home," Arthur called. He eyed Merlin even as he reached to grasp Gwaine's hand – it must have been hell dealing with Merlin as Gwaine had left him, so many days, if he still had to check the young sorcerer, even unconsciously.

"Thank you, sire," Gwaine said. "And, I'm sorry. Carados will probably be here with Arrok tomorrow, sometime, I'd guess."

"Sorry?" Merlin said. "What do you mean?"

Surely Arthur had told him? "I – killed Arrok in a duel in Descalot, though it wasn't intentional. Just mostly bad temper on his part, and bad luck on mine."

Merlin's eyebrows shot up, and Gwaine winced a bit internally to fall in his friend's estimation, but the sorcerer turned to the king, lifting his hands to his hips. "You didn't tell me that."

Arthur grimaced, trying to maintain royal dignity in the face of forgetfulness. "We were interrupted and distracted yesterday, and you've been sleeping all morning. I should have woken you at dawn to go over the duty roster with Leon? Gaius would have made sure I regretted any such thing."

"Distracted?" Gwaine asked, instincts alerted. Just because he'd let Merlin off telling old stories didn't mean he wouldn't pursue new ones.

"He called the dragon," Arthur informed him. "The great dragon, the one that I didn't wound mortally after all, because – interesting secret – he's a dragonlord."

Merlin's turn to grimace, as Gwaine turned on him in surprise. "Not that I don't think you deserve the honor or whatever, or that I don't think you can handle it – no one better for the job, you ask me – but, how did that happen? Your friend, what was his name, Balin-"

"My father," Merlin said, with that curious mix of shy defiance he sometimes exuded when discussing past events of significance or magic or both.

"Oh," Gwaine said, drawing the word out in realization. "Look, Merlin, I –"

He reached to take Merlin by the arm, but forgot what he was going to say when his friend went stiff with something he recognized – _pain_. He let go carefully, watching that spot on the sleeve of Merlin's jacket for telltale spots of blood to start showing.

"What is it? You're hurt? Did that happen this week?" Gwaine couldn't help thinking of the bruises Merlin had worn after the patrol with Leon.

Merlin was white, his lips pressed together, and he shook his head slowly.

After a moment of the younger man remaining speechless, Arthur spoke unhappily. "The night of the coronation banquet, someone set him on fire."

"Set – you – on –" Gwaine couldn't quite grasp that. He remembered Merlin face-down on the forest floor, clothes smoking, skin smeared with ash.

"Just the jacket, mostly," Merlin managed, sighing out the last of the discomfort. "And, it's nearly healed. Just, sensitive."

"And what did you do," Gwaine said to Arthur. For nearly a year now, there hadn't been secrets between him and his young friend – if being a knight meant Merlin would keep things from him, then maybe -  
"He didn't tell anyone," Arthur answered him. "Gwen found out, but agreed not to tell anyone. We found out… this week."

During which time, Merlin had to be cared for, physically, by someone else. Gwaine clenched his fists by his sides; fighting Arrrok over insults was one thing, but _this_ – "Who was it?" he said to Merlin, very low and very quiet. So he leaned closer to make sure his friend heard and understood. "You know who did it? Tell me who."

Merlin tipped his head and shared a quick glance of something not unlike disapproval between Gwaine and Arthur. Because Alayna had been right, after all, that Merlin would not want Arthur's knights at odds over him. "It was Sir Arrok."

Gwaine growled in his chest, because… yes, he could believe that. _Next time_ , Arrok had said. _Raise my torch_. Now he wished he'd fought that duel more deliberately. Arthur, however, narrowed his eyes, unconvinced – as if he thought Merlin was making a dead man a scapegoat to avoid telling them who it really had been.

"He confessed it to me, himself," Merlin added. "On the patrol, when Iseldir came to warn me about the stolen triskelion – he misunderstood what was going on, and –"

"Arrok was responsible for your bruises that day, too, wasn't he," Arthur realized at the same time Merlin did. He shoved one hand through his hair and turned in a frustrated small-circle, coming back to them after three steps.

"I thought I could convince him," Merlin said. "With enough time, I could show him I wasn't a threat to you – he only thought you were blind to the true nature of magic, and he was going to protect you and prove to you, I was too dangerous for you to keep close."

Gwaine snorted. "I love your optimism, Merlin," he said, "but Arrok was never going to change his mind on magic. Arthur, I'm not sorry anymore."

"Nor I," Arthur said grimly.

"Excuse me, sire?"

They three turned simultaneously to see Sir Leon try to hold a young knight back from approaching them; the field had mostly cleared, otherwise. Arthur nodded, and Leon let go, following the man closely as he straightened the tunic over his chainmail, and gave the king a very formal bow.

"Sir Kay?" Arthur acknowledged.

Gwaine looked at him with more interest; he'd fought beside the man in training, but he'd worn a helm that day. Short dark hair that sprang out in unkempt patches, eyes a very dark blue. Long arms and legs and neck, clean-shaven and freckled, broad-shouldered. Good raw material there, and the willingness to stand with commoners.

"I couldn't help hearing," Kay said, with a faint stubborn defiance underlying his deference. "You were speaking of Sir Arrok."

"That's right," Arthur said immediately. "The duel was to the code, two knights and a noblewoman witnessed it, and I'm satisfied Sir Gwaine has done no wrong – like I said when I made the announcement earlier. So if you intend to –"

Something Gwaine didn't think he'd ever seen before. The knight looked right past his king, and addressed Merlin. "It was I who held you. That night, by your arms, as Arrok tossed oil and then flame."

Gwaine felt half a second behind, and Arthur just looked annoyed, but Merlin understood instantly; his eyes widened. Kay rushed on, a bit desperately.

"Arrok said, you'd influenced the king to knight your friends, you'd fill our ranks with incompetent commoners because of your hold on His Majesty and that would weaken us and endanger Camelot. He said King Arthur couldn't see it, we'd have to sacrifice ourselves to open his eyes… I didn't realize he meant, we'd sacrifice our honor."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Merlin said quietly.

Gwaine was surprised Arthur hadn't spoken up to take command of the conversation and the situation.

"It makes no difference, perhaps, but I waited, down the corridor, after we left you. I saw you – extinguish the blaze, so I knew you weren't – badly hurt. And you – did nothing with your magic to attack us or hurt us in retaliation. You said nothing to accuse us, and you rode with the patrol in the rain with us, and – Arrok said, now you had the freedom to use magic, we'd see horrors daily and – he was wrong." Kay turned to Arthur, then, bowing with a fist over his heart. "My lord, I set upon an innocent man and caused him great pain and lingering hurt. I thought I could judge a situation and a man better than my king, and I stand ready to make whatever amends Your Majesty deems necessary."

The offense was shameful – and made Gwaine see red around the edges of his vision, to think about – but he could concede, there was nobility in this man, also. With Arrok dead, no one else would have known what he'd done – and Merlin himself might have wondered for the rest of his life, who the second attacker had been.

Arthur held Merlin's gaze for a very long moment. Gwaine, who knew Merlin also, glimpsed hope and pleading and confidence in his blue gaze.

"Kay," Arthur said, and it sounded to Gwaine like he'd left off the knight's title on purpose. "You have confessed your honor sacrificed. Therefore, til you can prove yourself worthy of the title again, you are to serve as guardsman rather than knight, with the accompanying reduction in pay and duties. However, the reason for the reprimand may remain confidential, if that suits Merlin also."

"Yes," Merlin said immediately. "Kay, I – thank you for your apology. I accept it, and forgive you your part in that night. I wish it had been different – but I understand. It's in the past now, and I'm sure it won't be long at all til you're… restored."

Kay nodded, filling his lungs and exhaling. Gwaine thought he might have been expecting worse. "Thank you also, Your Majesty."

The young knight bowed and retreated, but Arthur called Leon back.

"You told me, Arrok volunteered to go with Carados to help Gwaine and Lancelot."

Leon pressed his lips together, and ducked his head briefly. "After the patrol, I warned Arrok to keep his distance from Merlin, but I worried, with him… unable to defend himself… I thought it best to have Arrok away from Camelot."

Arthur voiced a sigh, and spoke wryly, "Why is that everyone thinks they know better than I do? That they see what I've missed?"

"That's irony, Arthur," Merlin murmured with amusement, and Arthur gave his shoulder a half-hearted push with his fist. "What about Lord Bernard and Lady Alayna?"

"What about them," Arthur said neutrally, starting to walk back toward the citadel. Merlin at his side, and Leon and Gwaine fell in behind them.

"Perhaps you might find a way to pass a judgment similar to Kay's?" Merlin suggested.

"And be very gentle dealing with Her Ladyship," Gwaine said, meeting Arthur's glance over his shoulder with a grin. "Else you might find Lancelot challenging you."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow, then turned his head to face Merlin for corroboration of Gwaine's insinuation; Merlin grinned. "Fine," the king said. "I'll wait til she's ready to speak with me, and I'll keep it private and informal."

"Can I take her to see her father later?" Merlin asked. "That might reassure her a bit."

"You?" Arthur said, quietly.

Merlin breathed once before answering. "I have to talk to him sometime."

"Shall I go with you?" Gwaine offered, perfectly genial. He'd like to give the man a piece of his mind; Leon gave him a _look_ , and Arthur ignored him.

Merlin flashed him a smile that was too keen. "No, thanks, Gwaine. But I'll see you tomorrow."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Can I ask you a question?" Ally said to Merlin, later that night after dinner.

Gwen had taken her to a guest chamber – and then had taken very good care of her. Merlin never would have guessed that the lady had spent most of the last two days on horseback. She had more color than he'd seen in her face in the enchantment, and he'd seen the evidence of her intelligence – but she was still having trouble meeting and holding his gaze, though he'd done his best to make conversation the past few minutes. Trying to relieve the tension for her a bit, while he'd escorted her from her chamber to the head of the stairs leading to the dungeon.

"Just about anything," Merlin said easily.

"Well, then… maybe a couple of questions?"

"Of course."

Ally stopped halfway down – out of earshot of those going about their business above them, and not yet to the guards'-room on the first level of the dungeon. Merlin waited – she hesitated – then he seated himself on the stair. Informal and patient. After a moment, she sat too.

"You are – braver than I am, to come here and stay," she said, hugging her arms to her chest and leaning over her knees. "Even though I can control my magic the way my mother could not. Gwen told me about… you and King Arthur. Why you stayed – and that you've succeeded."

"Oh, I don't know," Merlin said seriously. "Arthur is… truly great. A fair man, a just king. But it hasn't been easy, with the rest of the people – and it's only just started."

"It makes me feel a bit selfish," she confided. "To think of my life, staying in my room, hiding and keeping my secret and doing nothing with my magic. Not doing any good… and then the first time I do risk it, I make such a mistake."

"I've made plenty, too," Merlin reassured her. "I'll introduce you to Gaius – he's the reason my head stayed on my shoulders while Uther was king. I didn't always listen to him – but having a mentor like that, was… so precious."

"He taught you magic, then?" she asked. "Spells, incantations?"

"There was plenty I could do before I came here," Merlin answered, and though he was curious about where she'd learned _hers_ , it wasn't the time to ask. "He gave me his own book of magic, that he used as a young man, I learned a lot more from that. I think experience, too, teaches a person when and how to use their gifts – whether that's magic or something else."

And now she was meeting his eyes, soaking up his words and nodding to confirm his meaning. "I haven't got – anyone like that," she whispered. "My father… after my mother died, he was so determined, not to lose me, too. I think that's why he – did what we did, to you. Does that make sense?"

Merlin smiled and shrugged. It made more sense to him, just to talk to a person and ask after what you wanted to know, than to _assume_ , and act in error.

"One more question?" Ally said.

"Yes, my lady?" He wondered why she was not in a greater hurry to see her father, but maybe the realization of what they'd done, together and apart, was making her hesitate.

"Oh, please don't. Ally, I said, and I meant it." Her dark brows drew down unhappily, so he leaned to bump her shoulder with his.

"All right, Ally. One more question?"

"How did you break the enchantment?"

"I…" He paused to gather his memories and impressions into something he could explain and describe. "Saw the triskelion, made whole. Opened the door again into the tomb –"

"What was that like?"

He couldn't help a smile at her childlike curiosity, and refrained from teasing, _one more question?_ this time. So he described the tomb for her, the pillars and sigils, the light and the egg. "But I saw myself at the center of the room, bound in place by the magic – and one line of the web seemed to enter my chest. So I thought, maybe a dragonlord would have been able to unlock more than just the door of the chamber – I called upon my kin and the fire of my magic, and – burned the enchantment."

"Your kin?" she said.

"Mm. It's not exactly been said yet, but – I'm a dragonlord."

"In addition to your – ordinary magic?"

That, Merlin laughed at. "I don't know about _ordinary_ …" If they sat here any longer, the guard-change would walk right over them. He pushed himself up and gave her his hand to help doing the same.

"Who was your father, then?" she asked, keeping his hand as he led her down to the dungeon.

"Balinor, his name was. He died… about eighteen months ago."

"I'm very sorry," she told him sincerely.

It still hurt. It might always. But it felt better, not to have to hide that anymore, either. "I still have my mother."

"Gwaine said she was wonderful," Ally said wistfully, as they reached the bottom of the stair, and he remembered that she probably still grieved her missing parent also.

"Maybe you'll meet her someday." He turned to the trio of duty-guards eyeing them expectantly. Rumors had run the citadel like they always did; Ally's presence probably wasn't a surprise. "Lady Alayna to see Lord Descalot, if you please."

"Yes, m'lady." One retrieved keys from the hook on the wall, and opened the door of the first cell.

Gwen had been there once. And Uther himself, funny to think.

Lord Descalot sat on the cot along one wall, coat discarded and sleeves rolled and clothing rumpled generally, hair pulled back into a queue, reading a book. He glanced up at them carelessly – then sprang up, shock and horror on his face, tension throughout his body.

"Ally!" he gasped, simultaneously enveloping his daughter in his arms, and turning to place his body between her and Merlin. Then faced Merlin, glaring narrowly. "What is going on here?"

Merlin had wondered, what he might do and say, to face this man. Not the first to attack him. But he felt something akin to the pity Uther had sometimes sparked in him, to misunderstand so completely – and nearly disastrously.

"He broke the enchantment himself, Father," Ally said, gently struggling to come out from behind him. Bernard's stormy eyes widened, but he kept his focus on Merlin. "But that was after I told the two knights King Arthur sent to Descalot, what I did. I left to come here to break the enchantment, only I was a little too late."

"They hurt you, these knights?" Bernard asked in a low voice, backing his daughter to a corner of the cell. Merlin remained by the door but even a whisper could be heard in the small space. "They caused damage at home? Threatened anyone?"

"No, they were gentlemen," Ally said. "It was just – we were wrong, Father. You know that, don't you? We were wrong… about him."

Bernard breathed twice, looking Merlin up and down. "Now, what?" he said, raising his voice and his chin to address Merlin.

"I don't know," he answered. "I'm not the king. Arthur's holding court tomorrow morning and meeting with the council in the afternoon. I assume he'll render his judgment in one of those two forums."

"That is fine for _me_ ," Bernard stressed. "But no blame must fall on my daughter. Can you tell Arthur that? If he must execute someone for using magic – it must be me."

"I doubt very much if Arthur is eager to execute anyone, magic or not," Merlin said evenly. "He's not Uther."

Ally flinched and colored. "I'm to speak to him later, Father," she said. "In the morning, maybe."

A look of agony cracked Bernard's face – maybe at the thought of his daughter facing the king alone – and Merlin took an involuntary step forward, relenting.

"She'll be fine, my lord, I swear. I'm very sure Arthur won't hurt her or even try to frighten her – Gwen will probably forbid him from even raising his voice. Please – if you don't trust me, trust Arthur."

Bernard nodded slowly, then kissed Ally's forehead. "You go on, then. This is no place for a lady – you be sure to eat well, and sleep well, and whatever happens tomorrow… I love you, and I'm sorry."

Ally nodded. "I love you, too."

She squeezed her father once more, then turned to join Merlin in leaving. She stood on the threshold as he swung the door closed, but instead of giving way, she turned to look at her father again, and he paused.

"This is the first time you've seen Merlin since he was disenchanted," she said. "Isn't it."

Lord Bernard inclined his head in a stiff and uncomprehending affirmative.

"Don't you suppose you owe him an apology too?" Ally said.

Bernard breathed heavily through his nose, expression unchanging. "Very well. Merlin, I humbly beg your pardon for the mental and physical anguish my actions and decisions have caused you."

"Apology accepted," Merlin said neutrally. Can't be friends with everyone.

Ally picked at a sliver on the doorpost, and didn't move. "The tapestry in the north hall, Father – you recall it?"

Bernard did – but not the significance of it, by his expression.

"There's a second cousin on there you once told me you never met. It doesn't show he married or had children, but… the reason that piece of the triskelion was in our family vault. Something King Uther never knew? Because we have blood ties to the dragonlords, isn't it? Merlin's father's name was Balinor."

Bernard's mouth actually dropped open, as he stared at Merlin, who felt either too slow, or too fast. "Wait. What do you mean –"

"Don't you believe in destiny, Father?" Ally said. "That your idea to put the pieces in one place and with a man sure to unite them and seek the dragon's egg from Ashkenar's tomb – and he turns out to be the last dragonlord. And our kin."

Lord Bernard approached with ponderous steps. And when he reached Merlin, he put his hand – awkward-gentle – on Merlin's right shoulder, dropping his grip down Merlin's arm, then took his hand in both of his own.

"Cousin. I am so very sorry for the pain my foolishness has caused. If you can forgive me, I shall endeavor to deserve it, no matter what my life might be hereafter."

Merlin nodded, incapable of speech. Bernard released him, Ally drew him gently from the cell, and the guard secured the door behind them.

 _Cousin._

"Are you sure?" he said to Ally, feeling a little desperate. He didn't want to believe – wasn't positive he wanted to claim Bernard as a relative anyway – only to have it dismissed as error, later.

She smiled, and tucked her arm through his; he almost tripped at the stair.

No use asking why she hadn't mentioned it earlier. She'd done the same to him before, but there was such a lack of calculation to her manner, and absolutely no malice; he supposed allowances should be made for her upbringing.

Then something occurred to him, and he almost choked on a laugh. "What will Arthur say?"


	20. Destiny is a Choice

**Chapter 20: Destiny is a Choice**

Arthur was pleased with himself as he left the audience chamber, midmorning.

And a little worried at that, too. Hm. He hoped he hadn't outsmarted himself, also.

His proclamation at the commencement of open court had been calculated to distract those of his people – bless them – who were not present for serious reasons. And it worked; court concluded an hour early.

 _First of all, I thank the druids for their aid in restoring my friend Merlin. Look forward to seeing them again as talk of a treaty progresses. And of course they're invited to see the dragon hatched._

 _Oh, didn't I mention? Merlin is able to hatch the dragon egg, and we plan for this event to take place at the spring solstice, next year. A time of new beginnings, I think we can all agree? The creature will be young and delicate, but I am confident my beloved people of Camelot will welcome and protect him – or her._

 _And by the way, quiet down for the first petitioner._

Today Arthur rejected the clothing Orryn had chosen for him in favor of something he would have worn on a day with no official duties. Not his father's heavy crown either, but a lighter circlet not unlike that he'd worn as a prince, and easily passed to his manservant for the return to the locked cabinet in his chamber.

Because he hadn't seen Lady Alayna in the audience chamber. At all, since she'd arrived in Camelot. They all said how timid she was – though Gwaine had said it thoughtfully, and Merlin had assured and reminded him, it was Uther she'd feared, not him.

 _Thanks, Merlin, I'm not sure that helps._

He hadn't intended to address Bernard's offenses in the public forum. This afternoon, at the council session, it would supersede whatever arguments the councilmen might have had about the dragon's egg. As far as he was concerned – and Merlin – their decisions on that matter would revolve around the supporting logistics of the event. Not _whether_ , or even _when_.

But, if they'd be focusing this afternoon on their member, the Lord of Descalot, Arthur needed to speak with Alayna.

If he could find her.

"Not here, my lord," the maid in the guest chamber said, with a shy curtsy. "I believe she might have been spending the morning with Gaius? And – Merlin?"

"Thanks very much," he said, and she blushed crimson as he turned to leave.

His two guards took up their accustomed positions at the bottom of the stair, leaving him to ascend to the physician's chamber two steps at a time, alone.

And found the room deserted but for a young girl he recognized, in a plain but fine gown the color of twilight mist, her short black curls hiding her ears and brushing her cheeks. She sat with her feet up in Gaius' chair behind his desk, just turning the page of a large book as she glanced up at his intrusion.

And she smiled. "Good morning. Are you looking for Gaius?"

Which brought up Arthur up, a bit disconcerted, until it occurred to him that she didn't recognize him. She'd seen Uther when he entered her enchantment of Merlin's mind.

Perhaps that was for the best. He carefully shut the door behind him, and approached slowly and courteously. "Not Gaius exactly," he hedged. "I was trying to find Merlin?"

Her eyes were very like her father's, without the intensity. "You just missed him. The druids called to him because they were leaving, and he left to say goodbye to them in person."

"They called to him?" Arthur said blankly, before comprehension dawned.

She cocked her head as if evaluating him, then freed a hand from her book to tap her temple with a forefinger. "The druids communicate with magic, mind to mind," she told him. Watchfully. "You're a friend of Merlin's? What do you think of magic, then?"

Arthur gave her half a smile, and hoped she'd forgive him when she discovered, the dreaded interview with the king was over. "When I was young, my father taught me that magic itself was evil, and anyone who practiced it was inevitably corrupted, sooner or later."

She straightened indignantly. "That's not true. My mother had magic, and it was funny and beautiful. And look at this." She leaned forward on Gaius' desk, turning several pages before pointing to one.

He rounded to her side of the desk, curious – but could not read a word of the strange line of symbols and figures. "What is it?"

"A healing spell," she said, as though it should have been obvious. "It was one Merlin used to heal Gwen's father, once. He's been showing me some of the things he's tried, since he's been here in Camelot and working for… King Arthur."

He hitched his hip over the side of Gaius' desk, eyes still devouring the page. The colored illustrations of two different leaves, and the depiction of a cloud of fog around the head of a horizontal person who appeared to be ready to tip off a long crate – the patient in his or her bed, he assumed.

"This is Merlin's book of magic?" he asked, fascinated.

"He's never shown it to you?" she countered curiously.

"We haven't gotten around to it," Arthur admitted. "Last year, when he was nearly executed, and we all thought he was dead –" she nodded; she'd heard the tale – "I… missed him. I couldn't believe – the things my father told me. I talked to Gaius, and to others, and he explained. Magic is pure, but people aren't. So it's not an issue that's easy –" _we wouldn't know what to do with easy_ – "but the solution isn't, to ban it on pain of death."

"So you think, people who have it should be able to use it freely, however they see fit?"

Arthur flipped the edges of the book's pages, careful of their frailty. He could see now why Gwaine wore that look as he said slowly, _she's timid_. Intelligent, though. More complex than she appeared at first glance – much like Merlin himself, maybe.

"No," he said. "I have met those who used it for their own ends. I have fought them. So has Merlin."

She played with her fingers in her lap. "So magic-users ought to use their magic however the king sees fit. Or Merlin, maybe. Or just the law?"

He kicked the heel of his boot gently against Gaius' desk, and thought about his friend. Whether Merlin had asked these questions when he'd first come to Camelot. He thought about the confessions Merlin had made, and the absolution – no, the freedom – he'd offered, based on his trust in his friend's character. He thought about Morgana, who'd made her choice long before Arthur was even aware she was faced with one.

"No," he said mildly. "I don't believe the law should tell people what to do. Not with their gold, or with their authority, or with their magic. I believe the law should tell people what _not_ to do. Not to harm others, not to rob or kill or deceive. And those of us who administer the law, have a responsibility to encourage the keeping of it, as well as to prevent and punish transgression."

She nodded slowly, meeting his eyes with an expression very grave for a young girl, and he regretted the loving oppression of her father and her childhood, as his own father had made necessary.

He ventured, "Your interest in the matter seems very personal, my lady."

"It is." A moment longer she held his gaze, then leaned forward on the desk toward the candle in its holder at the far corner of the book – and spoke an unfamiliar word that he recognized as a spell.

Her eyes flashed with the gleam of magic; the candle's wick flickered and burned. There was an anxious draw to her face as she sat back and looked past his shoulder, having trusted a stranger with the secret of her magic in Camelot, based on his claim of friendship with Merlin. Testing him, maybe – and by proxy, testing all the people in Camelot in whatever category she assumed him, knight or servant.

He wasn't sure what to say. Or what to do, yet. Merlin had made it clear that he didn't hold Alayna responsible, and it was a separate question from, what to do about Bernard. Wasn't it?

"Where I come from, I've collected… bits and pieces," she told him, twisting her fingers in her lap and dropping her eyes. "They tell me that… certain bits are… considered forbidden."

"Dark magic," Arthur said before he could stop himself.

She flinched, and lost a little color, because probably she was speaking of the enchantment on Merlin. "I can see that now," she darted a glance up to him, "but I am ashamed, and… concerned, that I once thought there was a good use for it. I… envy Merlin, his Gaius. I wish there was someone like that for me, where I come from."

An idea blossomed.

And Arthur said slowly, "Would you ever consider… staying in Camelot? Joining the court here?"

She pinched the fabric of her skirt, wrinkling and straightening it in turn. "I did something," she whispered finally. He had to lean forward to catch her words. "Something with my magic. And I don't know what the king will do, or say…"

Arthur said nothing. She glanced back up at him.

"I don't know if I'm brave enough," she continued in the same small voice. "To live _here_ , if everyone knows I have magic… even though, so many people have promised to protect me…"

"Make it one more," Arthur said generously.

This time her quick look included the flash of a smile. "And there's my father…"

"Those are reasons you might not be able to stay," Arthur said slowly. "But if you _could_ … would you want to?"

She lifted her face, and her expression held a fearful sort of anticipation, hope and nervousness. "I think… yes, I would. For a while? I'd like to try, but…"

Behind him, the door was flung open and banged into the wall, as Merlin skidded to a breathless and surprised stop. "Arthur! I was looking for you – Carados is back, and -"

He cut off, uncomprehending, at the lady's panicked intake of breath. Arthur didn't move from his casual slouch at the corner of Gaius' desk, but as he turned to face her again, she spread the fingers of one hand over her heart, retreating as far as the high back of the chair would allow.

"You're the king," she said, her voice tipping a degree toward shrill.

Arthur bowed his head courteously, as Merlin moved again, stepping closer to them. "My lady."

"They said you were nice," she blurted, eyes flying to Merlin with an imploring look for help.

"Wasn't this the nicest way I could possibly have done this?" Arthur protested gently, smiling.

"But you don't look – but I thought – they said you were _nice_ ," she repeated with more heat. Accusingly. Then her eyes flew open wide as if realizing that her behavior might be considered rude or disrespectful – and in the presence of her feared king. She covered her mouth with her other hand to stifle all but a soft squeak of a sound. " _Oh_."

"Don't worry about it," Merlin told her, and by the tone of his voice, Arthur knew exactly the sort of smile his friend wore. "I do that all the time."

"I am pleased to meet you under better circumstances," Arthur told her. "If Merlin has pardoned you, how can I do less? Although, please – for both our sakes, caution and discretion in the use of your magic in future."

She nodded. Her eyes could not possibly have gotten any larger.

"As for your father," Arthur added, "I pass judgment this afternoon in council, where your presence will not be permitted. However, since I know you both can keep a secret –" he quirked a warning eyebrow; Merlin grinned – "I will tell you that I have no intention of keeping him imprisoned, reducing his rank, or any form of direct physical penalty."

Alayna gulped a sigh of relief so deep and quick it was almost a gasp. Merlin narrowed his eyes slightly as if trying to read Arthur's intentions, but a smile still lurked in blue depths.

"Thank you, my lord," the lady said. Arthur pushed to his feet and she uncurled from her chair, dipping a shallow but graceful curtsy.

"And what you said about staying," Arthur said, capturing her gaze again. "You meant that, yes?"

Uncertainty entered the blue-gray gaze, but she nodded firmly enough.

"Good." Arthur turned and strode to the door.

Behind him he heard Merlin say with delight in his voice, "You're staying?"

He smiled to himself. Now, it was a sure thing.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin wasn't the first one to the council chamber, but he deliberately took a place by the door and stubbornly fixed a pleasant smile to his face, thinking it amusing that the servants of the citadel reacted with more grace to his return after the enchantment. Maybe the nobles had hoped they wouldn't have to deal with him anymore.

"Good afternoon, my lord. Good afternoon." _You have to deal with me, because I'm not going anywhere._ "My lord. Good afternoon."

Arthur was last in, having donned the long jacket that made him look more authoritative in a way that was wilder than any rich satin could do. He glanced at Merlin to mark him, but didn't slow as he strode to the head of the table, and Merlin fell in just behind him.

He hadn't attended the open court session that morning, but he knew Arthur's intentions. The proclamation about the dragon's egg; it was what the councilmen discussed and argued even now, so they barely took notice of the entrance of the king they were waiting for. Old Lord Rowland was seated, gazing at the tabletop, as were Geoffrey and Gaius leaning on the arms of their chairs together to speak in low tones. The rest were on their feet, still, when Arthur stepped into his place between the table's edge and the largest chair in the room. He didn't sit; Merlin never did, though his hands felt suddenly and oddly empty without a water jug or wine pitcher.

Arthur cleared his throat, gaining him about half the room's focus. Then half-turned to Merlin and drawled deliberately, "I do miss that round table at the ruins. Much better for seeing everyone's face at once. Do you suppose order would be kept more easily around a circular table?"

There was a glint in his eye Merlin could not resist responding to. He laced his fingers together, and stretched them so his knuckles would pop.

"I don't know. Shall I make the table round, so we can find out?"

A gasp of silence, before several of the noblemen lurched backward from the table, startled into silence and attention at the suggestion of imminent magic.

Arthur reached out and cuffed the back of Merlin's head – lightly and almost affectionately, and this was _much_ better than clasping his hands behind him and keeping his eyes on the floor so he didn't offend.

"Maybe another day." The king turned his gaze down one side of the table and up the other. "I know many of you would like to discuss the issue of our trophy from the sorcerer's tomb, but as I said this morning, there's to be no change regarding it for many months. We will have time, my lords, to hear every man's opinion on the matter. This afternoon, however, we deal with the confession to law-breaking of one of our own. Geoffrey?"

Arthur lowered himself to the seat of his chair, but held himself upright as the court recorder hitched his seat closer to the table and bent over the parchment laid out before him.

"Lord Bernard of Descalot. Declared himself guilty of released a criminal by the name of Julius Border, now deceased, the twenty-fifth day of the fourth month of this year. Of conspiring with said criminal to steal an object of value and magical significance from the druid Iseldir and his clan – no claim leveled – and to attack the sorcerer Merlin, previously freed from the ban of magic in Camelot, by special dispensation of His Majesty Arthur Pendragon. Of further the deception covering these crimes for some days in an attempt to influence His Majesty's actions and decisions."

Awkward pause. All eyes were on Arthur or Merlin, except Lord Rowland, who gazed at the tabletop, and Gaius, who studied his fellows by turn.

Then Lord Urbert said belligerently, "Well I for one don't believe for a moment that an attack on a _sorcerer_ should be considered –"

Merlin lost the rest in a babble of voices that rose. They argued, as far as he could tell, the comparative relevance of each charge, as well as the severity of sentence they recommended, based on their opinions of the first part.

He rested his forearm over the high back of the king's chair, and leaned down to murmur, "How big do you want this round table, Arthur? Maybe if they're spread too far apart to hear each other…"

Arthur glanced up at him with a grin in the corner of his mouth. "Then I'd have to shout to make myself heard."

Merlin said innocently, "Don't you anyway?"

The king gave him a warning glare that he didn't really mean, before casting his attention back among his councilors with a sigh.

Merlin watched without trying to listen, to follow the thread of one man's argument through the tangle. In times past, he and Arthur both had no choice but to sit through this, when it was Uther's right to call them back to silence. Now that the right belonged to Arthur, he wondered if it was harder to judge when long enough, was long enough, for discussion.

"I agree," Arthur declared loudly, startling Merlin into uprightness. The king leaned forward over one elbow on the table to command silence and attention once more. "The worst of the offenses is the conspiracy, given that the victim of the theft declined to pursue justice in the matter, and the victim of the attack has already petitioned me for clemency in the sentencing, also."

Sharp glances at Merlin. He looked at his new boots and shuffled them a bit before stopping himself. These men, he'd forgotten, would search for and probably believe they found, any number of ulterior motives.

Arthur signaled the guard at the door. "Bring him in."

The guard on the right gave a nod that was also a bow, and turned to pull one of the great doors open. Another guard outside the room handed the prisoner over, and all councilmen turned in their seats to watch Lord Bernard step forward, chin in the air and expression severe, in spite of the chains that bound his wrists in front of him.

The thud of the closing door echoed behind him; Merlin noticed that he'd been provided a chance of his own clothing, charcoal gray jacket that matched his trousers over snowy linen shirt. The fact of his imprisonment was only betrayed in the smallest of details, like the faint smudges beneath his eyes.

 _Cousin_. That was still so strange to think, even though it felt perfectly natural with Ally.

Arthur rose from his chair and stepped to the side to meet him.

"Lord Bernard, by your own admission, you are guilty of several crimes. Against the justice due the estate you're entrusted with. Against an individual citizen under the crown's protection. And against your sovereign."

He paused, and Bernard – maybe waiting for any indication that his daughter was going to be included in the proceedings – then nodded, accepting the sole responsibility. "So I am."

"My judgment is this. You will return to Descalot, where you will prove the resolve of your expressed contrition by providing for the defense of Camelot's borders even where they extend past your own lands, against any and all invaders, from your own funds and ingenuity. However, your daughter Lady Alayna will remain with our court to remind you where your loyalty lies."

Bernard held Arthur's gaze intently. Merlin sent a glance around the table, seeing their thoughts. Surprise, contemplation, respectful acceptance. Illegal use of magic had not been one of the accusations leveled. Bernard kept his life, his title, his freedom – but his daughter was hostage, as far as these men were aware, his personal coffers perhaps drained fighting his king's war for him, as Arthur had delegated the responsibility and expense of border defense as a condition for trust renewed.

He didn't care what they thought. Merlin was proud of his friend. His king. Mercy, justice, and strategy. And Ally would be certain to reassure her father that the prolonged visit was her choice.

"May I speak, Your Majesty?" Bernard said. "And address the council?"

"By all means," Arthur nodded.

"I am grateful for your mercy, and I swear you will see the evidence of that in my discharge of the duty of protection of Camelot's lands. I leave my daughter in full confidence of the court's gracious care…"

His eyes flickered to Merlin - who gave him a surreptitious nod of promise - before gathering in his fellow councilmen.

"I have another confession to make, and it is one I am sure several of you will find familiar, if you search your hearts and conscience. I confess that I had expected a continuation of Uther Pendragon's policies, when I heard that Arthur's reign was to commence. I underestimated our king. I underestimated his compassion and his wisdom – it is not a mistake I intend to make twice, and I encourage you, my lords, to learn from my example."

He lifted his gaze from the men at the table, and pinned Merlin in place. Merlin felt his spine stiffen; in expectation rather than insult, though for what, he couldn't have guessed.

"I suspect that is due in no small part to this unique individual," Bernard added clearly. More than one lord at the table looked around to see if someone else had entered. "Uther Pendragon distanced himself from personal relationships for several decades of his reign, we all saw that. Perhaps it made him strong, but not many will deny it made him cold." He gave Arthur a little bow. "I mean no disrespect."

"He was a… lonely man," Arthur managed to say evenly.

Merlin could not help but think of his own father, who also had distanced himself from relationships, and ice had undeniably entered his soul, also. He was content enough to know that it had thawed, in the end, and that Balinor had at least opened himself to possibilities, again, before his untimely death.

"I did not know anything of Merlin before my arrival in Camelot, other than what various rumors claimed. And I confess, I completely misjudged him as well. This young man has an inherent nobility surprising for a peasant-born – but more understandable after his heritage was discovered. I am proud to claim Balinor the dragonlord as kin of the house of Descalot – Merlin's father, my cousin."

Merlin swallowed dryly, not ready for that revelation to become public. But Bernard was a consummate statesman – he might still have claimed the connection if he had absolutely nothing to gain by it, but then again… The direction of Arthur's favor was plain, and the lord would not let the opportunity pass to put himself in a position to benefit; his fall from grace would not be so very low, then.

The other noblemen – aside from Gaius – were taking a long moment for comprehension. Arthur looked at Merlin with a faint wrinkle between his brows that said, _Wait - what?_ But Bernard went on without waiting for them.

"If you can forgive me, my lords, for my disgraceful actions, I would claim for him the respect due a member of my own household." And Bernard made Merlin a slight bow, as one equal to another.

That raised his eyebrows. If Bernard gained some regard with Arthur because of his relation to Merlin, he was also offering Merlin some regard with the council in return. With Balinor dead and no official marriage recognized, Merlin knew he could never be considered a legitimate member of a noble house. But Bernard had claimed him, which meant – what?

The rest of the council had the same questions, it seemed, as they looked to each other for answers. Servant – sorcerer – peasant – physician's apprentice – dragonlord – noble's cousin… how were they to treat him? Merlin rolled his eyes to himself; as if his identity wasn't complicated enough as it was.

Arthur said incredulously, " _Cousin_?"

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Rise, Sir Percival. Knight of Camelot."

Arthur returned his sword to its place at his hip as his newest – biggest – knight turned to face the crowd in the banquet hall, grinning like a little boy, his face rivaling his new cloak for color at the acclaim.

True, some of those present, knights and nobles, were still reserved, sharing sidelong looks with other skeptical neighbors. But the majority of the knights at least – led by Gwaine, vociferous after two goblets of wine already – welcomed a fighter like Percival. Gwaine and Lancelot had led the way, and Percival's inclusion in training sessions had proven to the satisfaction of most of the other warriors, _better to have him on our side._

Servants began weaving through the hall with loaded platters, and Percival was drawn away from Arthur by an ever-changing crowd of well-wishers. He backed a few steps and rested his hips against the high table, as Leon seated himself behind it, to the right of Arthur's larger chair.

"My father would not approve," he commented on the reason for this banquet lightly to the knight that was his current heir. Entitled commoners.

"Your father is not here, sire," Leon observed. "And those of us who are, and who care about you the most – you and Camelot – could not be prouder."

Arthur let a smile pull at his mouth, glancing around the room.

Gwen and Elyan in the far corner, not official guests but not serving, either. One day maybe soon Elyan would take the place of honor to the king's left at the high table, newly knighted. He was learning and improving weekly, if not daily. And the lady, darkly beautiful in green-blue, caught Arthur's eye with a happy smile that coaxed his further across his face. She, he hoped, would also join him at the high table – and stay. Five months, one week, and three days, til he would ask her.

He watched her turn to someone else in the crowd – and recognizing Lancelot meant he could identify the slim shadow at the knight's elbow.

"How's Lady Alayna settling in?" he asked Leon.

"Merlin's good at instilling confidence," Leon said obliquely. "And Gwen, of course. And Lancelot… I suppose she'll miss her father and her home awhile yet…"

Lord Bernard had left that afternoon following the council meeting, rejecting the suggestion that he stay for the festivities as inappropriate, under his humbled circumstances – but Arthur didn't regret extending the offer. Chosen absence was better than enforced, for both sides.

"There may be rumors," Arthur said. "Because of the acknowledged kinship, and if they plan on spending much time together."

Cousin to nobility. He snorted to himself in a mix of acceptance and disbelief. Because Merlin could be and show that sort of high caliber of integrity – and then turn around and display manners that were truly atrocious. But Arthur had to admit, the connection would probably help him, help Merlin, in the future. Gaius sat the council not because of his title, but because of his skill and knowledge and expertise – but one day if Merlin served as his replacement, that nod to nobility would support his inclusion, at least among the other councilmen.

"They're going to have to, if he's going to help Gaius tutor her," Leon said.

Neither of them said _magic_. But there would be rumors. Impetus for Arthur to get working on that next bit of revocation, probably.

"But I don't imagine she'll face anything like the antipathy people felt and showed toward Merlin," Leon added. Arthur turned to look at him, seated behind the high table, and crossed his arms over his chest. "It's different," Leon protested mildly, though his argument was logical, and Arthur knew it already. "She's a lady; no one would lay a hand on her or say one word to her face. People may avoid her when the truth comes out, but honestly, sire, she'll probably prefer that."

Arthur didn't disagree. He shifted his attention back to the room.

It pleased him that people were no longer watching him so much, either; it felt like he had some breathing space. He wasn't recently bereaved and newly crowned anymore – and maybe he felt a bit more confident in his role, now, than he had at his last banquet, for his coronation.

Much of that confidence, he had to admit, was due to the fact that he'd decided, and realized, he didn't have to do this alone. To rule aloof and bear the sole responsibility of his choices. He had Merlin and Gaius to advise, and several trusted knights that also supported his vision of magic in Camelot.

"Sire?" At his other elbow, Orryn proffering his own goblet of wine.

He accepted it, but set it on the table at his hip, untouched. "Tobe's in bed tonight?" Orryn gave him a nod that was also a bow; he couldn't help adding slyly, "Are you sure?"

The manservant quirked an involuntary smile. Leon said, with amusement in his voice, "Boys will be boys."

Speaking of which, Carados was currently occupied in restraining Gwaine from climbing to stand on the bench-seat, at the far end of the knights' row. Arthur bit his lip not to laugh out loud; he suspected that Gwaine was only doing that to panic the more serious younger man a bit. Gwaine would be good for their ranks; shake them up a bit, cause them to question their attitudes and prejudices.

Gaius and Rowland. Geoffrey and Emund. Brenner with Bors and Kay… and all the rest. Arthur was highly content with his kingdom and his people, tonight. But there was someone missing.

"Say, Leon, where's –" Arthur turned, pushing himself upright from the table, and found himself facing the one he'd been looking for.

Merlin, in a re-tailored jacket of deep red, spinning the stem of his own nearly-empty goblet between his long fingers – but casually, without tension. "Here I am," he said. "You were looking for me?"

Arthur tried to think of something rude to say, but he was still too glad, every time, to hear Merlin's voice and connect to his soul when he looked in his friend's eyes, to see him twitch and fidget all on his own. And to have him come right out of the shadows and off the end of the Gaius' bench, to the middle of the room and the center of attention at the king's side, spoke volumes.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," Arthur said.

"About what?"

Arthur took a long breath, and let it out. The room was full of noise and life, people and conversations. And there was so much to talk about – the laws, the egg, the patrols. Merlin's new student and Nemeth's visit. Fathers and responsibilities, allies and policy.

So much that didn't need to be said. About the enchantment and Arthur's appearance there. The misunderstood suspicions of more than just Bernard, whether one of them controlled the other, that no doubt they'd face again, and again.

"Nothing," he said. "Everything. It can wait."

"Well," Merlin said, sidling a step closer and ducking his head a bit. "It seems like everyone's making a confession lately, I thought I might do the same."

"I already know you have magic," Arthur said dryly.

Flash of a grin that lightened whatever burdened Merlin's heart, just as Arthur intended. "When I left Camelot for Ashkenar's tomb, with the triskelion, I wasn't sure if I would be coming back."

Arthur stood very still, letting Merlin speak but slightly uncertain whether he wanted to hear what his friend had to say. Because Merlin had been _brought_ back… and he had bowed to the great dragon.

"I thought maybe, my time with you was done. That you were a good and fair king, and my being here would only hinder what you're trying to do for users of magic, and so you didn't need me." Arthur tried to control his reaction, but Merlin's expression twisted at whatever he saw on Arthur's face, and he rushed on. "I thought maybe destiny was leading me to a different responsibility, with the new dragon, and that I had to sacrifice everything here – Gaius, and Gwen, and… _you_ – to be a dragonlord. But I was _wrong_ , Arthur, I should have trusted you. I should have realized that nothing could take me from your side unless I let it, and I'm –"

"Do not say I'm sorry," Arthur ordered, shoving a strange sort of exhilarated satisfaction down deep where the doubts had taken root, to smother them out. "Then I will have to say I'm sorry for not listening to you properly, for making my own assumptions that were wrong, for making you feel like you had to shoulder this responsibility on your own." He slung his elbow around Merlin's neck for emphasis. "I've been learning a little bit about that, myself."

Merlin gulped, and smiled, and retreated into territory that was more familiar for both of them, but not less expressive than honesty. Putting on a disapproving look, he dodged to see Orryn past him, and said, "Is that your second or third glass?"

"First," Arthur said, letting his friend's movement dislodge his arm, and turn the mood more sarcastic. This was much better than Merlin being stiff and polite and Arthur accepting that it must be so. Their friendship was their business and it would be what they wanted, and the rest could accept or not, as they chose. "You better have some more, too," he added, signaling Orryn without looking. "I expect you to make at least one toast."

"Oh, Arthur, no…" Merlin very nearly whined, backing a step and glancing down at Leon as if hoping for support.

"To Sir Percival," Arthur said warningly.

And he looked – as Leon and Merlin did as well – to where Gwaine and the newest knight were toasting each other as comrades, forearms crooked to form a link as they raised goblets to their lips and the others around approved, encouraged, cheered, laughed.

"Yeah," Merlin said, his look changing. "Yeah, I guess I can do that."

"I always said," Arthur said, teasingly but not untruthfully, "you are the bravest man I ever met."

Merlin cocked his head as if waiting for the last line of a joke. Instead, Arthur lifted his goblet in a small private salute, and drank an unspoken toast to his friend.

A gentle sort of shock spread across the younger man's features – then Merlin crossed one arm over his body and gave Arthur a bow. A genuine, heartfelt gesture of respect and loyalty and contented service that was the same and yet so different than the one he'd given Kilgarrah, and Arthur realized.

Perhaps Merlin had inherited the rights and responsibilities of a dragonlord just as Arthur had inherited throne and crown and kingdom, but _this_. Perhaps Arthur was prophesied to bring magic back and Merlin prophesied to help him, but this was not a duty, for either of them.

 _Don't walk away… better than a brother._

This destiny was a choice.

 **A/N: Thanks very much, everyone, for reading and following and favoriting – and especially for reviewing (Kirsten I wish I could respond by PM)!**

 **Here's the thing. I'm tentatively planning on a third story for this arc, working title "Renewed by Love" but I'm nowhere near a decent initial outline, b/c of a multiplicity of ideas. So I'm going to do a modern a/u, like I said (see profile poll if you haven't yet, and if you care about which one), and then return to this arc after…**

Also, "Guest": I really wish you signed in with an account, then we could discuss in PMs (which I love to do)! Otherwise… I'm with you on Merlin's power, though I would differentiate between that and skill/knowledge/training/experience. That's why he was trapped in the enchantment until he was aware there _was_ one, and then he was out just as soon as he figured it out; the power is there. _But_ I wanted to do something different with this fic, in that it's not the impressive and overwhelming power of magic that wins people over, demonstrating his intent to protect them that they can trust – while still remaining leery of him personally – it's about his humanity. He still is a person just like everyone else, still that person they saw about the citadel and lower town, still a very real friend to the king. Occasionally needs _their_ protection (just as Aithusa will). And that, imo, overcomes individual prejudice faster than the sort of spectacular magic I think you're referring to.

As far as Kilgarrah. I don't consider that he was Merlin's friend til _after_ the prison break and Merlin sparing his life, as if he's soured on all humanity and doesn't really believe Merlin's any different from the others til that point, taking into account the things he says to Merlin and the way he manipulates him beforehand. I do think Merlin considers him a friend before that, but Merlin's pov that of a village peasant, somewhat narrow and simplistic – and I love that about him, he gives people the benefit of the doubt and forgives. Kilgarrah's pov is centuries old and kingdoms-wide. It's always been a question of mine, how much he sees of the future (did he see the Purge coming, for instance, or his own capture), and whether he chooses his actions and words based on the outcome he wants – and not necessarily what's best for Merlin or Arthur, as individuals or in their various roles. I think his attack on Camelot once he's freed is more deliberate than reaction-after-imprisonment, b/c I stand by my claim that 20 years would be small potatoes to a thousand-year-old dragon. And of course Arthur raised as crown prince in the court is going to have a different opinion of the dragon than Merlin… I've written Kilgarrah  & Arthur more amicably in my "Towers" series, but that's a/u from the start – canonically I think this would be the way it went…


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